Warcraft: Dawn of the Worldqueen
by BanterHorse
Summary: In the aftermath of Grim Batol, Sintharia is given a new lease on life. Driven by hatred and bitterness, she seeks revenge against her once beloved mate, turned mad tyrant, Deathwing. But even as she plots the coup of the ages, shadows gather over the frozen continent of Northrend, threatening to consume the entire world.
1. Consort's Fall

**A/N: **Let me start out by saying this. "I hate Richard Knaak!" There now that is out in the open, let me first state this story starts off with an alternate ending to Night of the Dragon, written by aforementioned defiler of paper and ink. This story was mainly inspired by CII's work in dragging not only Neltharion's rep out of the mud, but also Malygos to a lesser extent.

I was also motivated by reading Sinestra/Sintharia's tragic story, and my rage in how most fanfic writers seem to gloss over her. So I thought it might be a good idea to pull Sinestra out of the shaft and give her another chance. And take a closer examination on who she is, who she was, and who she can become.

* * *

There are screams that cannot be silenced. They rise louder, and louder. It's the sound of a queen betrayed and abandoned, suddenly, long ago. As the screams echoed then through the deep places of Azeroth, they echoed now eternally in her soul. It gouged into the Super-Ego, mutated and distorted the id, penetrated into the deepest and darkest parts of her mind. It slammed into her decayed sanity, it bounced off the loss... her everlasting torment. The Earth Warder is gone. She was alone. Sintharia is dead.

It was easier to live as if she had never been that sad and pathetic dragon, it was comforting to think that this new life would be a better one. And why shouldn't it have been? She was on the cusp of creating a flight of her very own, a far-cry from the one that had cast her aside. She had worked to turn this wonderful dream into reality for the past five centuries.

She existed now as a brutalized mockery of her former self, baring her ultimate shame for all to see. Her name was Sinestra, formerly known as Sintharia, matriarch of the Black Dragonflight.

For the past several centuries Sinestra had been plotting and scheming her return to prominence. She had a dream, a dream of a dragonflight to call her very own; a flight that would sweep the old ones aside and enable her to dominate the world. It was an obsession, all she could think about was the future that would soon be hers to shape, and the children that would lead her to it. To this end she had over the centuries stolen hundreds of eggs from broodmothers of all five flights with the intent of mutating them into the forms that she desired.

And she had been successful, and in that moment she had felt joy. Dargonax had been born. The name meant 'devourer' in the ancient tongue of dragonkind, and to him it was most fitting; for Dargonax had an insatiable vampiric appetite for power. But in the end, he had just been a single step in her ultimate design of perfection, and such knowledge had infuriated him.

The end of her dreams came as they always did, on the crimson wings of a dragon she had learned to despise almost as much as the one that had mutilated her long ago. Korialstrasz.

Sinestra had watched in abject horror as she watched the culmination of her efforts blow up in her face. Literally. Dargonax, her 'son' as she had affectionately labeled him, was dying and determined to take her down with him whether she liked it or not. Her old enemy, the red wyrm Korialstrasz consort of the Aspect of Life, accompanied by his mortal allies had thwarted her designs yet again, and it looked like this time it would be for keeps. Suffice to say Sinestra was angry, she had endured too much pain and torment for it all to amount to nothing now. Fate couldn't be that cruel.

Dargonax had rebelled against her, goaded on by her nemesis. The sudden attack had taken her by surprise, and her treacherous creation had landed a blow on her belly that had nearly eviscerated her.

But then, such betrayal was not by any means new to her. She had gotten particularly adept at surviving it, especially when it came from her own family. Yes she considered Dargonax as a 'son' mostly because nearly all of her true children were now dead, and there was not a black wyrm on Azeroth that would consent to give her more. Additionally the very thought of mating was terrifying for her, especially considering the manner in which she had earned her eternally burning scars.

But Dargonax was also dying, he was destabilizing and soon he would collapse in on himself, likely taking her with him. It was in this moment that Sinestra realized she had been duped. The voice in her head... it was laughing. It was the laughter of the one being in all of Azeroth she hated above all others; Deathwing. She had been used, coerced into creating this creature for her former mate's designs. And now she was being cast aside. Tears of rage stained her ruined face as she flew hard to keep Dargonax at a distance; the pain, the humiliation, it was all coming back to her. She had failed in the most damning way possible. Korialstrasz _damn his scales _had been right all along.

He was chasing her into the sky above Grim Batol. Her wounds were slowing her down. It was at this juncture she was presented with a choice. She could either try to make a break for the mountains, or she could stand and fight. Kill her son.

Something in her rebelled at the notion, told her that to strike down her son would be an unforgivable crime. She also noted that it was the same voice that had put her in this mess. Deathwing – even as she was reaching the end of her rope – still sought to obfuscate her will. She would not have any of it.

She glanced back. Dargonax was gaining on her, eyes alight with loathing and desperation. She continued to laboriously thrust herself skyward. _Just a little longer. _

Blood pounded through her ear plates, winds tore at her mutilated body, heat gathered in her crop in anticipation. _Not yet._

The thudding report of Dargonax's wings filled her ears, then she felt it. The air seemed to jump away, as the great Twilight phased back into corporeal form. _**Now!**_

She twisted suddenly in the air, ignoring the screaming agony that coursed across her abdomen as the tears Dargonax had rent upon her belly stretched with the movement. Apparently this act surprised Dargonax, who faltered a moment before her magma breath into his angered face.

"You are no child of mine..." she hissed angrily, "You are just another failure. And I tend to all of my mistakes." Sintharia opened her maw and once more unleashed a blast of viscous lava, the powerful variation of the natural breath weapon that only the mightiest of the Black Dragonflight could wield was devastating. The molten rock splashed upon Dargonax's multi-hued hide, burning him and weighing him down.

"I will not endure Deathwing's duplicity and treachery any longer!" She roared, tears still streaming from her eyes as she watched Dargonax flail and fall. All this time she had thought she had been acting of her own free will, she had forsaken her life, her family, her Flight, and even her own name to get away from the infernal beast that had defiled her so long ago. And it had all been for naught, he had still used her anyway. Now she had nothing.

Dargonax recovered and roared angrily as he tried to gain height on her, Sinestra would not let him. All she had to do was wait until he finally fell to pieces, then victory would be hers.

"You will not escape me!" Dargonax raged as he pumped his wings harder, his body suddenly recontaining it's energies, his eyes blazed burning red in a manner that reminded her of Deathwing. Sinestra balked in shock, _'How did he restabilize himself?!' _it defied all logic; what had she created? Truly she had created the ultimate monstrosity, a bane to all dragons, to all creatures that walked this world. He would devour them all, just as his name implied.

_You cannot beat us._

_You cannot find us._

_You cannot hide._

_You cannot run._

_You will succumb._

_Before the Hour of Twilight, falls!_

Six terrible voices laughed in unison.

Dargonax flew up to her with a powerful burst of his massive wings, phasing out of reality as he did so. His incorporeal nature meant the lava that had been weighing him down simply fell off of him. Sinestra tried to erect a shield around her, anything to keep her rampant creation at bay.

Korialstrasz had nearly sucked down his own tongue when he saw Dargonax recover from his seemingly imminent destabilization, and his heart sank deep in his chest. _'Is there anything that can stop this abomination?' _he thought furiously. Sintharia was clearly trying to do just that, but she was failing. Sintharia was strong, perhaps the most powerful black dragon left alive now that Deathwing was gone. But she was also badly injured and would not last long against the ravenous twilight dragon. It would indeed be poetic justice, for Sintharia to meet her end at the claws of her profane 'child', she had caused more than enough evil to deserve such a fate.

He watched as Dargonax slammed into her, eliciting a shriek of rage from the disfigured dragoness. Before she could disengage, the massive Twilight grabbed hold of her from behind, hugging her close to his chest.

"You thought you could control me," Dargonax growled, "You thought you could replace me, that you could create children more magnificent than I!" He tightened his embrace on Sintharia as her struggles increased.

"Release me you ungrateful whelp!" The enraged black demanded. Dargonax responded by producing a dark purple corona around his body, a look of rapturous delight in his eyes. _He's draining her! _Korialstrasz realized.

Sinestra writhed as Dargonax greedily feasted on her energy, savoring it as he slowly siphoned it out of her body.

_"__Scream for me!" _Dargonax gloated as he squeezed her tighter. Sinestra in that moment panicked, those words and they way he said them, invoked memories so horrible that all she could feel was the agony that could only come from being burned alive. She clawed and bit, giving her all in an attempt to break free of the abomination.

It was a stupid way to die. To be made a victim of her own hubris, to know that Deathwing – in the end – would be profiting from her misforune. Truly, life was a bitch; even more so than herself.

Dargonax was too strong for her, there was no escaping from his vice-like embrace. As the strength was leeched from her, she felt something feeling against her mind, coming from Dargonax, and yet it was not Dargonax. It pierced her crumbling mental wards and her vision fell to darkness.


	2. Mytheria

Sinestra awoke to the sound of rushing water, the gentle whisper of summer winds over rock, and the rumble of lava beneath the earth. Her eyes fluttered open tiredly, focusing against the sunlight reflecting brightly against stone. Tiredly she rose up and took a look at her surroundings. Her eyes widened at what they beheld. The Obsidian Sanctum.

It was the Sanctum as it used to be, everything was as she distantly remembered it. Bright sun and blue skies over a rugged volcanic landscape. Columnar basalt flows stretched upwards like masses of polygonal fingers, hot springs, geysers, and bubbling mud volcanoes dotted the floor of an immense caldera. Along the crater's rim were the mouths of many caves, which was where the Sanctum's purpose was fulfilled.

The Obsidian Sanctum was a refuge for all in the Black Dragonflight, it was the oasis in the desert, the island in a stormy sea; it was where a dragon could find peace. It also served as a place where broodmothers could lay their clutches, and raise their whelps in safety. In days long gone by, Sinestra remembered this place as always bustling with activity, families of dragons and dragonspawn playing, training, and carrying on the work of their charge over Azeroth.

But when Neltharion fell, and Deathwing rose in his place, everything changed. The Sanctum had mutated into a place of discord and destruction, it was no longer a safe place to raise whelps, it had become a dead realm. There was no broodmother left in the flight that would ever consider seeking sanctuary in that fallen place.

To see it now as it was before, had brought a sense of blissful nostalgia into her heart. Unbidden memories of being surrounded by her children came to her, she had felt such happiness then.

She shook off the foreign feelings. This was not right, where was Dargonax? She distinctly recalled being leeched by the treacherous felspawn before blacking out. There was also something else amiss: she felt no pain.

Pain had been her closest companion in the last ten-thousand years, the scars Deathwing gave her had been a remorseless source of unending agony. Never once had the pain lessened or intensified, and it had been more than enough to produce more than a few psychological issues. This sudden relief from the torment was mind blowing, it felt as if a great weight had been lifted off her shoulders.

She looked at herself, and noted with chagrin that the scars remained. Sinestra had long ago surrendered to the idea that she would bear them for the rest of her existence, as a bitter reminder of the past. She moved experimentally, flexing her fore and hind limbs; she noted with some surprise that the hitch in her right shoulder was no longer there, the result of an injury sustained in battle with Korialstrasz a number of centuries ago.

Sinestra then crouched low, the muscles in her hind legs coiling. She then pushed up with a mighty downbeat of her wings, she lost altitude for a brief moment before leveling out and angling her flight path along the right rim of the caldera. Her keen eyes swept the rugged terrain for any sign of life. There was nothing.

_Sintharia..._

Sinestra stopped and hovered, head twisting around for the source of the voice who called her by her discarded name. Her eyes fixed upon a hill in the center of the caldera with a wide cave mouth leading deep into the earth. It was a cave she knew very well. With a moment of hesitation she turned about and flew down towards the hill and it's solitary cave. Her anxiety grew as she flew down to the cave entrance, her heart hammered in her chest.

This was her cave.

This was _their _cave.

"Quite a sight, isn't it Sinthie?" A chipper feminine voice asked right next to her. Sinestra nearly jumped out of her scales in surprise, she leaped away and rounded on the stranger, teeth bared and crop flaring with the promise of fiery death. But when she saw who it was, the bottom dropped from under her mind. It was a large female black dragon, her scales shimmered like polished pewter, and her bright amethyst eyes possessed an expression of profound cherubic joy. A golden diadem rested over upon her narrow skull, inlaid with precious stones, her gently curving horns had titanic runes lovingly carved into the surface.

"Ma-Mytheria?!" Sinestra blurted, backing away from the dragon. In life, Mytheria had been one of her fellow consorts before the Sundering, she along with three others had shared the task in mating with the Earth-Warder once every twenty years. Mytheria had been the youngest, being only twelve-thousand years old at the time of her death.

"What is wrong, sister? You look like you have seen a ghost!" the younger wyrm chirped pleasantly. Mytheria had been the unfaltering optimist of the sisterhood, always ready to cheer her up when she was feeling doubts or depression, she had been blessed to have her as a friend. And losing her, had moved Sinestra beyond the scope of grief.

* * *

_A darkened curtain of clouds filled the sky, rain pelted her scales and ran down in sheets along her wings. Thunder rumbled in the distance, signaling the coming of the perfect storm._ _Sintharia had her head bent low as she gazed upon the broken, ravaged form laying before her._

_ Open wounds burning with the heat of the deepest volcano marked her hide, a rent in the gut spilled charred intestines upon the blackened earth, wings torn from the sockets and discarded, spine twisted unnaturally. And yet she lived._

_ Sintharia's mind rebelled at the sight. Those bright, spirited eyes once filled to the bursting with light and love, now only held pain and unfathomable misery. Her spirit just as ruined as her flesh. The stench of blood, cooked meat, and evacuated bowels filled the air, stinging her nose as her eyes wept, tears hidden by the rain striking her face._

'Neltharion,' _she thought miserably, _'Why are you doing this to us?'

_The loving, kind mate she had known for thirty-seven thousand years was gone. Replaced by a monstrosity of fire and infinite madness. _

_ "I... tried..." Mytheria rasped, "... to get... through to him... failed" she took a rattling breath, "Suh... sorry."_

_ She was beyond healing, no amount of restorative elemental power could heal such damage. _

_ "Do... it..." Mytheria whispered, her eyes pleading, "Finish... it..."_

_ Sintharia's heart shattered in her chest, "Goodbye... sister." Her claw rose, and slashed downward, bright crimson splashed against her chest scales. A golden heart – one of the purest and bravest in the flight – stopped beating._

_ Sintharia gathered her friend's violated corpse in her claws, head bent low, tears anointing her brow as the black queen shook with emotional agony. Her head canted upward and she screamed out a mourning wail._

_ It was a scream that could not be silenced._

* * *

Sinestra stood gaping at her friend of old, "You are dead."

Mytheria cocked her head, "So I am."

There was a pregnant moment of silence, "Am I dead?"

"Almost but not quite," the deceased consort replied smoothly, "Dargonax, that charming 'son' of yours is trying to squeeze you dry at the moment, your life force is being bolstered by a very gracious benefactor."

The former consort of the Earth-Warder blinked in confusion, "If I am being drained, why am I here in the old Sanctum?"

"This is your mindscape Sintharia, when you lost consciousness, your mind conjured surroundings you equated to safety, time here is at a standstill for the moment. So you need not worry." But she did worry, she was for the first time in a long time completely out of her depth. Everything she had striven for lay in shambles, and now she was conversing with the dead.

"And what of this... benefactor?" Sinestra asked, liking this situation less by the second.

Mytheria clucked her tongue teasingly, "This is the first time we have talked in a hundred centuries, and you can't bring yourself to ask me how I have been all this time?" She answered in mock hurt, "I don't know who he is, but he seems to really know you."

Sinestra growled deep in her throat. She absolutely despised being at the mercy of anyone, it made her feel exposed, weak. Independence was everything to her, the last ten-thousand years had taught her that she could only depend on herself, and the thought that her life now depended on some unknown being frustrated her.

"Should I suspect that this... intruder be expecting a boon for this favor?" Sinestra demanded, her voice becoming as ice. She also hated paying people, it was far more sensible to enslave them. Before taking leave of the Black Dragonflight, Sinestra was one of the highest in the pecking order, and was used to getting what she wanted, immediately, no arguments. And when she could stand Deathwing's incessant manipulations no longer, she kept this expectation. Everything existed for her to use as she saw fit. It was in the end the least she deserved for all the hell she has endured up to this point, and if any disagreed she was more than happy to take what she wanted by force.

"I don't know," Mytheria admitted, "I came because I felt your life ebbing away, I have been wandering this world in limbo ever since... that day."

"You mean the day that you threw your life away?" Sinestra sneered derisively.

"I know that my death, and the deaths of the others has weighed heavily on you over the millenia. Junaria, Irona, titans even Seraphia-"

"Do _not _say her name!" Sinestra roared with utter loathing, "That traitor deserved _everything_ Deathwing did to her!" she turned angrily away from Mytheria, "And the only thing I lament about you Mytheria, is your idiocy! I told you to stay away from Him!"

Mytheria brushed off the hurtful insult with a soft huff, ruffling her wings as she stood straighter, "I went to my death seeking lord Neltharion, the mate that we all loved, but only truly loved you. I could not reconcile the caring Aspect I knew with the monster he became, I believed that there had to be something left of him, that the madness could be cured." her head dipped low, "I couldn't reach him."

"Because there was nothing there!" Sinestra snarled, wheeling around and fixing her golden eyes upon her deceased friend, "I loved that beast with all my heart, I bore his children for thousands of years! And he betrayed me! Betrayed us! He took the paradisaical world we created for ourselves and he burned it! He burned it until nothing of it remained but His laughter! You cannot save that which never existed in the first instance."

Mytheria stepped closer, "Where you see treachery, I saw only sickness my sister. A sickness that ran so deep, it befouled the elements themselves. It is the same sickness that I see in the members of our flight, as more slip into the Beyond." she shot a hard look at Sinestra, "You too are sick, sister. But I believe there is still hope for you."

Sinestra narrowed her eyes dangerously, "Is that why you come to me? To absolve me of my sins?" the black matriarch said mockingly, "This is the only path left to me Mytheria, all I have left is my vengeance, all that matters to me is vengeance. Even if it takes ten-thousand more years I will have satisfaction! Keep your hopes to yourself."

Then Mytheria did something Sinestra did not expect, she rushed forward and threw her forelimbs around her neck, hugging her. Sinestra was so shocked she couldn't even move, then Mytheria whispered to her, "My hope remains, sister. Because I will always have faith in you even if you have none. In life I always looked up to you as a friend, and as a source of succor; let me be those things for you now Sintharia, I will not abandon you."

Many things ran through Sinestra's mind in that instant; to violently lash out at the dragon who had dared to touch her, and the sudden urge to collapse into tears being foremost among them. But she could not move or act, for she was feeling something that she had not felt in ages; solidarity. Back when she was with the flight, she had been a loner. After what Deathwing had done to her, she had lost the ability to trust anyone but herself; it had been a harsh, cruel existence.

No.

This was not right; none of this was ever meant for her. She shrunk away from Mytheria's revoltingly comfortable embrace, a hard look entering her eyes. Mytheria returned her gaze with a sad expression. "I suppose it was too much to hope for; convincing you with just one conversation."

"I must stay true to my path!" Sinestra growled, reaffirming herself. Now was not the time to succumb to these weak emotions and sordid memories, "And neither you or the Titans themselves will make me flee from it! I will have Deathwing's life for what he has done to me, I will ruin him as he has ruined me!"

Mytheria bowed her head morosely, "It pains me to hear that," she said, "If that is your stance, I will take my leave of you for now. The one who holds your fate in his claws waits for you at the nesting chamber, you should go to him."

Before Sinestra could reply, Mytheria evaporated away like a summer mist. She was alone again. Hardening her heart, Sinestra proceeded into the cavern, guided by old memories.


	3. Reality Check

The Caverns of the Earth-Warder had been her home once. It existed at the heart of the Obsidian Sanctum, just as Neltharion had existed as the heart of Azeroth. Little could compare to the beauty of the Caverns, it was not simply a network of caves, it was a work of art, painstakingly crafted and tended to by one of the greatest minds Azeroth had ever seen, every iota of Neltharion's advanced knowledge of geology and planetary dynamics had gone into the home he made for himself and his consorts.

Relief images carved upon the walls showed impossibly detailed vistas that Neltharion held in certain regard, beaches, mountains, plains, seabeds, once the Earth-Warder saw something he liked, he made certain it was never forgotten. And there were the crystals. Their faceted forms grew from the ceiling and the sides of the walls close to the floor, all of them glowed brightly with colors that ranged the breadth of the visible spectrum, and they were constantly slowly shifting into lighter and darker shades, differences that could only be detectable by a dragon or similarly sharp eyed being. This was all her doing. One of the first things she had done after becoming Prime Consort had been redecorating this place.

Her memories of this place felt like those from a completely different life. It infuriated her – to have recollections of things that had brought her joy; things she can never have again. She had not been lying to Mytheria when she had told her that the only worthwhile thing she had left was her vision of retribution. She had spent many centuries fantasizing her glorious victory over her sad metallic shell of a former mate. Her dreams were of her claws sinking into his flesh, her teeth closing upon his neck, and of visiting horrors of such screaming perfection upon him – she felt giddy each time she woke up. When she had heard the claims that he had died, she felt great disappointment – but great pleasure at the fact she had outlived him. But now she knew that was not the case.

Fury bubbled within her as her thoughts turned upon her current predicament. She was trapped in her own mind while a monster of her own creation greedily feasted upon her life force. And now she was to confront her mysterious benefactor, who by his position now held considerable power over her.

The last time she had been in this kind of position, she had ended up being enslaved for several centuries by an arrogant young wyrm twenty-thousand years her junior, the humiliation she had endured in that time was beyond the scope of words. In time she eventually rebelled against her 'benefactor' and then hired some goblins to skin the miserable creature alive, along with his entire progeny. That had been a wonderful day.

But the lesson learned then was clear: any deal made at the end of a lifeline only lead to more trouble.

Sinestra wished she could will this scenery away, memories that she would rather be left forgotten were far too close to the surface here for her liking. Sinestra had spent many sleepless decades feverishly convincing herself that the warm bliss of her past had never happened. It was much easier to live in the belief you never had anything, than to live with the fact you had lost everything. In the end, living a lie was more comfortable.

Following the tunnel down, the temperature got progressively higher as she descended. She was getting close to the Earth Warder's personal sanctum. Anxiety tugged at her thoughts with every step, and the memories got harder to keep at bay. How many times had she walked this path with her fellow consorts? How many times had she come to this place to sate her former mate's need? Such thoughts continued to intrude upon her as she came closer to her destination.

Eventually the floor evened out, and the tunnel ran straight ahead, at it's end sat an immense circular door made of solid granite, completely featureless save for a draconic rune whose identity had lost all meaning to Sinestra; Sanctuary.

She stood before the door, and reluctantly seeped deeper into the past.

_"Daas multz iif gri. Ahmik ruulz fau-dein." _She recited. The granite door slowly rolled out of the way, revealing the chamber that lay beyond.

Trepidation stayed her feet for a few minutes. Sinestra feared what effect going into that room would have on her already sputtering sense of identity. But in the end she had little choice left but to press onwards. She slowly padded into the Earth Warder's sanctuary.

It was an immense space. More than enough room for her to fly around and perform aerial acrobatics if she was of a mind. Set into the ceiling was an immense ruby, luminous and flawless. It's perfect faucets reflected squares of reddish light upon the ceiling, walls, and benignly smooth floor. The walls like the tunnels were engraved, but instead of landscapes there were dragons. The Black Dragonflight. Each image represented every black dragon that had ever existed prior to Deathwing's betrayal. Sinestra averted her eyes from their stony gazes, looking down upon her, judging her.

Her attention shifted to the adjacent tunnel, the one that would take her to the nesting chamber. Sinestra walked towards it, determined not to let this place get to her more than it already has. But as she crossed the middle of the Sanctuary, her foot fell into a shallow depression on the floor. Her gaze shifted downward and her eyes widened in recognition.

Two depressions lay in the middle of the floor, one larger than the other. Both made from thousands of years of two enormous scaly bodies resting down in the same places. Her vision flashed and took her to the distant past.

* * *

_If she could hold one moment forever in time, this would be it. Sintharia was surrounded by warmth, it seeped deep into her bones and filled her with vitality. The sounds of deep, powerful, but relaxed breaths caressed her ear plates. Her eyes flashed slowly open, hoping to capture the sight of her beloved as he slept._

_ Clear emerald green eyes gazed back at her, lit from within by light that rivaled the brightest of stars; testament to the awesome power their owner wielded. Neltharion the Earth Warder gave his Prime Consort a wide goofy grin. "Morning, my queen."_

_ Sintharia leaned forward and rubbed her snout against his, eyes closed in delight, "There are no mornings here, my love," she replied sweetly, trying to convey every inch of her passion for him with one simple touch. Neltharion's throat thrummed with pleasure as he empathically received his mate's strong emotions. This was what true love felt like. This was perfection._

_ "That can be changed," the black aspect replied, "But I hardly think the rest of the flight would approve."_

_ "Where is the rest of the Sisterhood?" Sintharia asked, referring to her fellow consorts. For the last few days, all five of them had been tending to the Earth Warder. The reason why Neltharion needed several mates was because when he entered the rut, he became too much for one dragoness to handle alone, when one consort reached her limit, another would come in to replace her so she could recuperate. By her position as Prime Consort, Sintharia had been at the center of the action, and it had taken a great toll on her body. She doubted she would be walking normally again any time soon._

_ "I sent them away," Neltharion answered, "I feared that I pushed you too hard, my need was much more potent than usual."_

_ Sintharia chuckled, "You caught us off guard, true," she made an effort to lean in closer to him, "We were tempted halfway in to have Ysera come over and have you sleep it off."_

_ Neltharion covered his face with a claw, "Thank the Titans you didn't, that would have been embarrassing!"_

_ The black matriarch growled in amusement, "We decided instead to call out to the Crimson Escort," she said, referring to the seven consorts of Alexstrasza. Of all the aspects, the Dragonqueen was the most intense when it came to the mating cycle, "Tyranastrasz was sympathetic to our plight and agreed to act as healer."_

_ Neltharion sighed deeply, "I thought I smelled someone else in here. I'm sorry you had to do that, my love."_

_ Sintharia bowed her head, "We will be prepared for you next time, I'm not upset my lord, some parts were rather satisfying, it's not every cycle we get to perform before an audience, I think Tyranastrasz was rather impressed."_

_ "His opinions matter little," Neltharion said gruffly as he stood up, "Now stay right there, I will get you something to eat." Sintharia was suddenly aware of how really hungry she was, starving actually._

_ "No need, I can have one of the guardians-" Sintharia began, but Neltharion cut her off with a pleading look._

_ "Please, my mate. Let me do this, it is the least I can do for you. From this point, until you are completely recovered __I_ _am at __your_ _service." The Earth Warder stated, bowing his head deferentially to her._

_ The black dragoness adopted a contemplative look before a mischievous look entered her eyes, "Well in that case, my scales need some buffing done, the floor temperature should be raised twenty-six more degrees, this chamber must also be brought back up to code, and there is also the matter of my new dress code..."_

_ "I'm going to regret this aren't I?" The Earth Warder asked, amusement entering his expression._

_ "It's a really pretty dress." Sintharia assured him._

* * *

The memory faded, and Sinestra was left at a complete loss for words. The powerful emotions she had felt then, resounded in her now and she could not escape them. She had forgotten what it had felt like; how it felt to love, and be loved.

Sinestra in defense of her remaining sanity, rarely ruminated on the memories of her former life. They were memories of a dragon who had long ago ceased to be. In that spirit, Sinestra had tried her best to forget, even going so far as abandoning her original name; anything to forget about ever having felt such happiness, knowing she would never feel such completion ever again.

"_He never loved you."_

"_Neltharion was false!"_

"_You were nothing more than breeding chattel to him."_

"_He was a failure as a mate, and as a leader!"_

"_Nobody loves you, nobody ever wanted you."_

"_Sleep now, your days are done."_

Sinestra felt lethargy suddenly come over her incorporeal self, she suddenly wanted nothing more than to slip away, to forever be lost to the void. It felt like the most logical thing in the world to simply bow her head and succumb.

Six monstrous fingers of darkness pierced the walls of the dream, seeking her out like sharks scenting blood in the water. She knew instinctively that if they seized her, she would never escape them. She tried to run, but her feet stayed rooted to the spot.

Despair clung to her being as she began to realize that she had absolutely nothing left to live for, the Neltharion of old was gone, most of her children either dead or in exile, no allies, no purpose. Perhaps she would find comfort in death. Maybe there she could find what life had for so long denied her.

Slowly Sinestra settled down into the smaller depression, noting how empty it felt without the Earth Warder. With a feeling of finality, Sinestra lowered her head to the floor and allowed her heavy eyelids to fall shut. The dark tendrils closed around her, and she awaited release.

_**STOP!**_

The powerful, familiar voice galvanized Sinestra from her stupor. It was a call that echoed throughout the mindscape, with a force that the image bent and distorted around her. The dark tendrils closing around her receded, six voices howled in outrage.

Sinestra tentatively got to her feet again. Unsure of what had just happened. The darkness was still there, it's tainted essence swirling around her like a ravenous beast. She gazed at it fearfully, it's very presence chilled her soul.

_"Do not resist..."_

_ "Let us end your pain..."_

_ "Accept the gift we offer..."_

_ "The world will go on without you..."_

_ "And with your death..."_

_ "Comes the end of all things mortal..."_

Sinestra backed away from the darkness. "I am not finished yet," she said, before turning around and heading towards the passage at the other end of the room. Towards the nesting chamber.

* * *

The nesting chamber was directly beneath the mating chamber. It's floor was located beneath an artificial magma chamber composed of sixty-percent ferrous slurry and forty-percent molten rock. The floor temperature was ideal for the incubation of black dragon eggs. There were many strong memories attached to this place.

It was here that all of Sinestra's misbegotten children had been born. The great dragoness seethed with impotent anger as the memories surrounded her, her dream body trembled and flickered when one made it's painful passage through her conscious mind. Sinestra was beginning to fear that she was starting to lose herself.

The chamber was circular, with a rounded ceiling that detailed a panoramic representation of the night sky. Small perfectly shaped diamonds studded the surface, some brighter than others to indicate constellations, and planets. It was the sky as it appeared from the Well of Eternity during the height of Winter Solstice.

"At last you have come," a voice growled from the shadows, near the end of the chamber.

Sinestra redirected her gaze, just in time to see a familiar face catch the light. The dragon had a narrow skull, with a beak like snout that supported flaring nostrils. His eyes were pure white and lit from within, radiating power not native to Azeroth. His scales were a mixture of cerulean, black, and ashen white. It was a face Sinestra knew very well.

"Zzeraku," Sinestra choked out.

The Nether dragon known as Zzeraku was native to the broken realm of Outland, born from a black dragon egg exposed to the strange energies that imbued the shattered world. Zzeraku's exposure to the chaotic power had made the dragon mature far faster than was normal, and gifted him with truly extraordinary abilities. Abilities that had piqued Sinestra's interest. It had been a latchkey discovery that had propelled her personal project beyond her wildest imaginings. Sinestra had captured Zzeraku so that she could siphon his energy to feed the then fledgling Dargonax. Zzeraku had escaped confinement with the aid of a meddling alien priestess, and shortly thereafter engaged Dargonax in a fierce duel which saw the weakened nether dragon consumed by her empowered creation.

"I cannot tell you how deliciously ironic it is to see you like this," the nether dragon spoke, "Long have I dreamed of you getting your comeuppance, ever since the day you took me from my home. Though I wish it had been me to deliver your downfall."

"How- how is this possible?! I saw you die!" Sinestra exclaimed, her mind reeling with implications.

"Your abominable child may have dissolved my body, but who I am remains untouched," the nether dragon said as he advanced upon her. Sinestra dared not move, she knew that Zzeraku held every possible advantage here, and he could doom her at a whim. But Sinestra refused to be cowed easily.

"Is this why you spare me, Dargonax's hunger? To gloat?" She shot back, "Titans damn you and all your kind mutant!"

Zzeraku to her outrage merely chuckled, "I am not here to reiterate the enormity of your error, my fallen jailer. I have spent many days exposed to your brutality and insanity, yet I never glimpsed the true essence of who you are."

Zzeraku stopped alongside her, and ran a claw paralell to a blazing gouge on her shoulder, Sinestra's dream self felt no pain, but she still instinctively recoiled from the contact. Zzeraku continued his inspection, and Sinestra stayed silent, too busy gauging his intent to formulate a response.

"Yet what I have found only brings me more unanswered questions. So I have to ask; do you even know who you are?"

That was a question Sinestra had not been expecting. The black dragoness rarely spent time on introspection, and had long ago ceased to question the things she did. She held the past at face value, and never bothered to draw anything out of it more than what was readily appearent; Deathwing betrayed her, the world abandoned her; both would pay. Everything she did had been justified.

"Who I am is inconsequential," Sinestra answered, "I have no need to justify myself to you."

The irritating mutant simply shook his head, "You really don't know do you? Then let me enlighten you," Zzeraku turned to face her, "You Sinestra, are a self obsessed coward enslaved not to Deathwing, but to the lies you have surrounded yourself in!"

Sinestra reared up, anger flashing in her golden eyes, "You dare-!"

"Yes!" Zzeraku snapped powerfully, "For ten-thousand years you have done nothing but run away, denying everything that brought you the slightest bit of additional discomfort! Your past, your family, even your own name!" Zzeraku said, disdain dripping from every word. "Everything that brought you here to this point, all of it is _your _fault!"

"That's not true, it's Death-" Sinestra began defensively, but her former captive cut her off.

"No, of course not. It's always someone else's fault, isn't it? It makes it so much easier to justify your own atrocities." he sneered condescendingly, "Yet for all your evasion. You still could not stop Him from using you as he always did."

Those words cut deep. Part of her wished to challenge these claims, to deny everything that Zzeraku was saying about her. But the rest of her wanted to put an end to the pain, to finally let go before slipping into the embrace of death.

"Just... get it over with!" She growled, "This means nothing to me!"

The nether dragon looked at her sternly, "I think it means everything to you. You have not only forgotten yourself, you have forgotten what it means to be a dragon! How much of yourself must you discard and deny before you realize that!"

"Please... stop this," Sinestra said quietly, her voice weak.

Zzeraku touched her on the shoulder again, this time she did not flinch, "You have been running ever since the day Deathwing broke you, just this once Sinestra, stop running."

Zzeraku's words had reduced the once proud dragoness to an emotional wreck. The carefully fabricated walls of denial and warped perception she had erected around herself to insulate her from reality were crumbling down; revealing to Zzeraku what he had sought all along. Beneath the layers of deceit and corruption he saw a defeated queen, a frail scarred heart that was burdened by too many memories, and not enough hope.

"You need not die like this," Zzeraku spoke soothingly, "I offer you escape."

"How?" Sinestra asked, her voice hollow.

Zzeraku was silent for a moment, "By melding my essence... to yours."

Sinestra bowed her head low, gazing at the floor of the dreamscape, reflecting on her life, and the choice that lay in front of her. Zzeraku was right about her, for too long she had been running away. Filling her thoughts with hatred that lay impotent, and revenge fantasies that she lacked the will to see through. Deathwing's shadow eclipsed her no matter how hard she tried to escape it. It was time to make a stand.

"What are your terms?" She asked, looking up at him.

"You will destroy Dargonax," Zzeraku replied, "And when that is done, you will transfer what is left of my essence to the draenei priestess Iridi. After that you will leave, you will harm neither her, or her friends. Do we have an accord?"

Sinestra did not hesitate, "Do it."

Zzeraku was silent. He slowly breathed in and his form began to dissolve into an amorphous mass of blue-green luminous fog. It wrapped around her body and softly touched the core of her being. Sinestra's world exploded with light, the nesting chamber evaporated away, leaving her alone in the center of nothingness. The light tore at the darkness that had plagued her for so long, washed away taint that had long gone unseen. As the pressure weighing down her soul lifted, Sinestra closed her eyes one last time.

It was Sintharia who opened them again.

* * *

**A/N: Sinestra falls, and Sintharia lives again. Next chapter, Sintharia teaches Dargonax her definition of the word Aggro.**


	4. Disjunction Part 1

The waking world slammed into Sintharia with all the subtlety of a war maul. Sounds, smells, and tactile feeling blasted across her awareness. She was immediately aware that she was still held in the clutches of Dargonax, the disloyal creature uttered a grunt of surprise when it suddenly realized it was no longer siphoning power from his creator, quite the opposite. Liquid fire surged through Sintharia's veins as a portion of Zzeraku's might was torn from Dargonax, and directed into her body.

"I-Will-Not-Be-Defeated!" Sintharia roared, as the energy pooled in her chest, before being unleashed. A primal explosion of kinetic force blasted Dargonax away. Sintharia experienced a momentary freefall before her own wings snapped open, and she glided down towards the ground. She landed roughly upon the scorched earth, her claws sinking deeply into the blackened dirt.

Dargonax was much less graceful. He hit the ground hard on his left side, skidding dozens of meters before coming to a stop. For a moment, Sintharia dared to hope the fall had incapacitated him, but her hopes were dashed as the aberration slowly – painfully – got to his feet, and looked back over to her with eyes burning of murderous intent.

Despite herself Sintharia was feeling rather elated. The scars Deathwing had inflicted upon her had guttered out, quenched by Zzeraku's alien essence. They were now charred black rents, ugly and cauterized; Sintharia could already tell that the scars would never trouble her again.

As the power surged through her, Sintharia began to perceive something she had not felt in a very long time. It came from the rushing waterfalls, the wind gusting through the valley, from the roots of the mountains themselves. Azeroth was singing to her.

It was not a pretty composition. Beats were missing, notes ended sourly, and components were either not present or working incorrectly, and the conductor was absent. The entire composition was flawed, it was the music of a world that had long been bereft of it's custodian. In any other situation, the dragoness would be at a loss on how to begin reconnecting with her Titan given abilities, but Zzeraku's influence made for an excellent foil for her atrophied scope of knowledge.

Sintharia and her passenger reached for the primal energy, one thought clear in her mind; she needed healing.

Summoned by their conjoined will, ten tendrils of water rose up from the ground, drawn from the damp earth, a subterranean river, and the air. Each was thick around as the trunk of an aged oak, responding to her will they wrapped around her brutalized body. Had a shaman been present to witness this, they would have likened the conjuration to a variation of the 'Healing Surge' ramped up to a massive scale. The water, infused with restorative and cleansing energies cascaded across her hide; scales were washed clean, the body mended itself, scars old and new faded.

* * *

From his vantage point, Korialstrasz watched in amazement at Sintharia's renewal. Sintharia had been well known for her grotesque appearance, Deathwing's attack had seared lasting inflammatory scars into her flesh, and half her face had been melted off in that particular encounter. And more recently, the demon soul exploded literally in her face, marring everything the fallen Aspect had failed to ruin in his fit of deranged lust.

Korialstrasz only vaguely remembered what she looked like before then, and as her body restored itself under the haze of nether infused liquid, he was finally seeing it again. Her infamous scars knitted together, leaving only slightly visible marks in their passing. The gaping wound Dargonax had rent upon her belly also mended, and unlike her old scars it vanished completely. Her face was also restored, proud and graceful. But while Sintharia may have appeared whole now on the exterior, her golden eyes reflected the open wounds in her psyche, that despite her reclaimed beauty, made her appear utterly terrifying.

* * *

"Alright you little shit, come to mama!" Sintharia goaded, electrical arcs dancing across her body as she tapped further into her long unused natural powers. The elements recoiled at the encroaching touch of her deranged mind, but she cared not as she communed with powers she barely understood anymore. She didn't care that she was likely breaking at least a dozen rules of the old Black Dragonflight, she just wanted Dargonax to die.

_**'Sister! Don't do this!' **_Mytheria's spectral voice rang in her head. _**'They aren't meant to be used like that!'**_

Dargonax answered her challenge with a throaty bellow as he charged her, his wings downbeating as he struggled to lift into the air and bear down on her.

"Rise!" Sintharia bellowed.

The earth split open at her call. A hand wreathed in fire, and made of molten stone erupted from the fissure, elongating and striking Dargonax in the chest. Sintharia watched with mounting glee as an immense lumpy form crawled out from the wound in the ground. Giant lava elementals were a singularly destructive breed, the only way to bind them was through the application of immense willpower. In the past, a black dragon with the proper amount of preparation could summon these beings safely; Sintharia wasn't that dragon. Sintharia had forced the elemental to come here, and used the power Zzeraku gifted her to bind it against it's will. Unfortunately it didn't stop there.

"Attack!" Sintharia commanded her new thrall. The lava giant did as it was bade, and lumbered toward Dargonax, a trail of burning devastation brewing in it's wake. Sintharia knew it wouldn't be enough, she needed to dig deeper.

Sintharia took to the skies with relish. As her connection to Azeroth deepened, more and more minions were made to answer her call. The skies darkened, the earth shook, water levels rose. Sintharia grinned wickedly as more elementals came to attack the grounded Dargonax, she would fly overhead and ensure that her 'son' would not be able to escape to the skies. Then, when the elementals wore him down enough, she would finish him off.

* * *

"What the hell is happening?!" Rhonin shouted over the din of howling wind and shifting rock. His mane of red hair tangled in his face as powerful gusts blasted through the valley. Kalec was nearby tending to Iridi's supine form, while Vereesa stood at his side, holding her hood down as the spastic wind tore into it. He did not know what to make of the current situation, Deathwing's prime bitch and her twisted creation had up and decided to ignore them and kill each other for a change, and the result was total chaos.

The land was teeming with berserk elementals of all types, and a few Rhonin had not seen before. All of them apparently summoned by the black consort to overwhelm Dargonax while she played it safe and rained molten destruction from on high.

"She's insane," Kalec said hoarsely, "There is no way anyone can control that many elementals at once!"

"You are welcome to go up and tell her that," Rhonin replied gruffly, "Either way, it is a win, win situation for us. If she kills Dargonax, she'll be weakened and we can put her down with little fuss... although her army of elementals might be a problem."

Deep thunderous beats that vibrated the air broke Rhonin from his train of thought as he gazed upward in time to see Korialstrasz drop from the sky, and land about a dozen yards away. The red leviathan folded his wings and swung his large head towards them.

"My friends, I must advise you to keep your distance," the red rumbled.

"You don't have to tell us twice!" Vereesa called to him.

"I don't understand, how is she doing any of this?!" Kalec demanded.

Korialstrasz was silent as he gazed at Sintharia for a long moment, "That is not the Sintharia we have been fighting, her very nature has changed."

Rhonin blinked in bewilderment, "What, are you saying she is one of the good guys now?" He asked skeptically.

"Titans, no. She is still a rotten bitch as you can plainly see. Her presence is... how can I put this, clean. The vibe of wrongness I felt in her has vanished, somehow Sintharia has been cleansed of the corruption that befouled her Flight thousands of years ago."

Kalec's eyes nearly bugged out at this statement, "How can you say that? Look at her, she has clearly lost her mind! If we don't stop her now, her folly will consume all of us!"

Korialstrasz fixed the currently transformed blue dragon with a hard stare, his slitted cerulean eyes reflecting only total seriousness, "She cannot be allowed to continue, that is true. But we cannot fight them both at the same time," the crimson giant replied in a tone that brokered no tolerance for debate. To his knowledge Sintharia is the first black dragon to ever be freed from corruption, he wasn't so arrogant to believe that it was his words alone that turned her from Deathwing's madness, something invoked this change in the former consort, and he needed to know what. Additionally there was his queen to think about.

Neltharion's betrayal had deeply hurt Alexstrasza, but had not managed to burn away her love for him. Never once in his memory had his queen ever desired to kill Deathwing for his transgressions, but rather she wanted to save him. No matter how far the Earth Warder fell, her new anger for his atrocities was not greater than her old fondness for her brother. The Lifebinder would have payed any price to get her brother back; but now that he was gone it had died down to saving his flight, and Sintharia could be the key to realizing his love's greatest desire.

* * *

Back with Sintharia and Dargonax, the battle had escalated into a war. Using the elementals as cannon fodder was working well for Sintharia at the moment, but Dargonax was quickly recovering from being robbed of so much energy. The balance of power was beginning to turn away from her however, Dargonax was mulching the elementals by the dozen and her lava giant had fallen as well.

Fortunately she was used to dealing with the abrupt turns of battle. Sintharia had gotten into countless battles with other dragons and internecine squabbles within her own Flight over the course of her long and damnable life. And dealing with a recovering adversary was something she had learned to live with. She was already formulating a new stratagem for getting rid of Dargonax.

One of the reasons why she kept Balacgos's Bane close at hand was in the expectation that her creations could turn on her, she not only used it to empower Dargonax, but also so she could put him down when the day came that he outlived his usefulness to her. But the artifact had been destroyed. Unfortunately, both the cube and the Demon Soul had been destroyed a short while ago. But in spite of the loss, she still had a card left to play. Or a piece. Or whatever you used to spectacularly defeat your enemy in grim turnaround.

Dargonax bellowed in triumph as he phased into his incorporeal form, Sintharia spat a curse in draconic and dived toward the rupture in the side of the mountain that led into the derelict dwarven fortress, the battles that had taken place within it's halls had brought it into a deeper state of ruin. Dargonax true to his obsessions, chased after her.

There would be only one chance. If she failed, she would not survive the consequences. _Curse you Korialstrasz for ruining everything! _She thought vehemently as she touched down into an eroded hall, her claws tearing up the marble as she trotted as fast as she could now that there was no more room to fly.

She heard Dargonax crashing after her, his guttural snarls signaling his rapid approach as they grew steadily louder. _Yes, my child. Follow me into your tomb. _Sintharia knew that she would never be able to best Dargonax in a direct confrontation, without the shard she used to control him, she was outclassed. But one thing that Dargonax lacked was guile, he was all power and no creativity behind it. This would be his undoing.

Sintharia's clawed feet skidded on the smooth floor as she rounded a turn sharply, she was close to her final objective. She closed quickly to a white marble building set into the far end of a large atrium, she was already changing by the time she reached it. In seconds she transformed into her human guise, and was working the crude bipedal anatomy overtime to carry her through the small doorway.

Moments later, Dargonax crashed into the atrium. Rubble and detritus was spilled in his wake as he forced his immense form through the narrow archway that connected it to the corridor behind him. At this moment, the gargantuan amethyst fiend was possessed of a single desire: to devour all that was Sinestra.

"You cannot hide! I will find you – feast on your drained corpse!" He screeched, searching for the damnable dragoness that for too long had been allowed control over his destiny. He had already surpassed her, and now it was time to take her head.

He charged for the building at the other end of the atrium, not bothering to slow down or turn ethereal, instead opting to smash his massive skull against the mortal-made structure's fastness, smashing through quarried rock, mortar, and iron with little effort as he tore into the building's vast entry hall. Gilded columns, and bronze statues dedicated to revere heroes of the Wildhammer dwarves lined the walls, at the end of the chamber was a large collection of arcane machinery and various forms of magical lab equipment. Sinestra stood before it in her weak mortal form.

"I never had any intention of hiding from you my foolish child!" She cackled with glee, "You will never be able to surpass me!"

Rage flooded Dargonax's profane soul, anger so profound black tears of pure fury leaked out from his reddened eyes. "I will be free of you!" He screamed as he plowed towards her with reckless abandon.

Sintharia merely smiled, and raised a gray cube shaped object in front of her, green markings of draconic nature swirled upon all six faces. With a gesture, the cube launched away from Sintharia and towards the rapidly closing Dargonax. The small object struck the Twilight in the chest, and it's effects were immediate and profound.

From the moment it first came into her possession, Balacgos's Bane had fascinated Sintharia, it's ability to gather the unharnessed latent magical energy of the world was nothing short of amazing. The power one could wield with such a device was simply sublime. But Sintharia ever hungered for more power, and had tried to reverse engineer the artifact. The result was disappointing. Her attempt to copy Balacgos's creation had ended in failure, the device worked, but it was far too dangerous for her to wield without possibly killing herself.

The moment Sintharia's artifice made contact with Dargonax, it immediately fused to his flesh and pulsed erratically. Dargonax screamed in agony as his life force was rapidly pulled from his body and forced back in, twisted and misshapen by the flawed arcane mechanisms imbued into the cube.

_"AAARRRRGHHH! KILL YOU! AUUUUGHHHH!" _The tormented twilight dragon roared, Sintharia threw off her mortal shell like muddied shoes, and charged her twisted son, maw wide as she blasted a gout of lava onto him. Evidently, the Faux Bane caused Dargonax so much pain, it made him unable to turn ethereal. Which suited Sintharia just fine.

Her claws raked against his corrupted hide, scales and flesh were torn asunder as she savagely assaulted the weakened Dargonax. The tortured behemoth flailed out in pain fueled desperation, one blow caught Sintharia by the shoulder, making her wince in pain as she was thrown aside by his superior strength. But she also managed to get past him.

Sintharia gathered her borrowed power and reached even deeper into the fabric of Azeroth, forcing it to bend to her will in ways that without Zzeraku were impossible. The world rebelled at her mishandling of it's bounty, but she strove on regardless. She would come to forever regret what would follow.

The region around Grim Batol was suddenly struck by an earthquake of unheard of magnitude. The entire mountain shook as if struck by the hammer of a wrathful god, Sintharia cast one last gloating look at Dargonax's flailing form before taking off as the burning mount crashed down around her. She did not know what providence protected her from being crushed by the deluge of falling rubble, but at this point she did not care. She retraced her path to the breach as the halls of Grim Batol bent and sagged deeper into the earth.

As the breach came into view, Sintharia lurched into the air, narrowly avoiding a tumbling block of masonry as it crashed down from the overburdened ceiling. As she cleared the mountain, she twisted about to witness it collapsing inexorably into it's foundations. It was reaching the breaking point.

Suddenly there was an explosion, an explosion so loud that everyone within miles of Grim Batol was instantly deafened. Including Sintharia. The black consort wailed and lost altitude as her ear drums felt like they had imploded, she landed roughly on the ground just as the dust cloud thrown up by the collapsing mountain rolled over her and blocked out the sun. The earth twisted and churned beneath her, the unnatural earth tremors echoing the fury she had bestowed upon the elements.

_**"What-have-you-done?" **_She heard Mytheria's sobbing cries in her mind. _**"How could you?"**_

Sintharia ignored the voice, all that mattered was that she was victorious. Dargonax was now crushed under thousands of tons of rock. Now all that was left to do was wait for her hearing to return, then fulfill the terms of her contract.

The whining pitch in her ears gradually died down, and her ear plates popped as her hearing returned to her. She could now hear and feel the earth moaning beneath her claws, and knew she had inflicted terrible injury upon the land. A heavy sour sensation settled in her gut, making her feel distinctly unwell. _Is this what guilt feels like? _She wondered, the emotion felt so foreign to her.

She gazed through the thin films of her secondary eyelids as the heavy winds gradually dispersed the dust cloud. And as she perceived her surroundings, she saw that she was now on the opposite side of a cliff edge. Confusion wracked through her, she remembered no such feature being in Grim Batol's vicinity. But as the dust cleared further, her eyes widened in horrified understanding.

Where Grim Batol once stood, there was now a gaping chasm, nearly four hundred meters across and, and nearly six times that in length. The other ledge rose nearly a hundred meters overhead, steeped at an angle.

Sintharia blinked rapidly, she absolutely could not believe she had created this with her own will. Something had happened, something terrible. A violent wind gusted forth from the chasm, carrying the unmistakable stench of pure unadulterated rage. The fury of the planet itself, it's already tainted song twisted into a menacing cacophony, calling out to her like a choir of the damned.

This was not right, she had only meant to destroy the mountain, not... not this.

Sintharia quickly tried to block out the enraged choler the song had taken to. This was not her problem, everything she had done today was validated by the outcome. And woe betide any who would suggest differently.

* * *

Korialstrasz lifted his wings away from the group that they had previously encircled. He had made sure they were unharmed by Sintharia's reckless stunt. As his eyes surveyed the mind boggling devastation, all he could feel was loss. He wasn't sure if she was trying to crack Azeroth in half, but she sure as Fel came close. He had not witnessed such devastation since the Sundering.

He transformed into Krasus to properly join his companions as they all gawked at what Sintharia's actions had wrought. All struck speechless at the enormity of it. Rhonin was the first to regain his voice. "H-how?!"

How indeed? Sintharia was a potent force to be reckoned with, surely; but this was beyond the ken of normal dragonkind, only the Earth Warder himself could have pulled something like this off... and he was dead.

"I do not know my friend," Krasus said turning to him, "She should not have been able to do this."

"She... is coming," Iridi gasped weakly. Before any could wonder what the dying draenei meant, the blustering reports of leathery wings provided them the obvious answer.

Sintharia landed before them, head held high like a conquering goddess. The renegade consort looked truly pleased with herself, in spite of the fact that all of her plans had been thoroughly brought to ruin.

"So you survived after all," she remarked idly, her golden topaz eyes resting upon them.

All present glared daggers at her, but the infamous dragoness did not seem to care.

"You've lost Sintharia, your Twilight dragons are no more," Krasus said, glowering at the creature that had caused him no end of grief since her fall to darkness.

"Hmm, so they are," she affirmed, her sharp matronly voice betrayed no particular displeasure at the fact, on the contrary it only conveyed contentment. "My time is short so I will be brief, I shall now fulfill my part of the bargain."

Sintharia raised her forefoot and pointed a claw directly at Iridi, her body shimmered as a greenish cloak of mist flowed from her scales, and channeled through her extended appendage. It flowed down upon Iridi who arched as it seeped into her skin.

"Release her, now!" Kalec thundered as he assumed his true form, unconcerned by how weak he currently felt, and the fact that Sintharia was far larger, and stronger than he was.

"It was a fair deal!" Sintharia snapped angrily at him, "Zzeraku helped me destroy Dargonax, just as I wanted. And he gets to throw his existence away to save _her _just as he wanted." She waved her claw away as the last of Zzeraku's essence flowed into the now evenly breathing draenei priestess. "And now, with this power he has given me, it is my turn to sit the throne of my deranged shell of a former mate, nobody is making an exile of me ever again!"

The moment her rant ended, the silence was broken by a loud explosion, and an anger filled roar. Everyone turned to see a familiar purple form erupting from the broken ground. His hide was bloody, and broken. The Faux Bane was still burried in his chest, still pulsing malevolently as it pumped his essence in and out. But it appeared that Dargonax had finally decided to move beyond silly inconvenient things like pain, as he took to the dust choked skies, and blocked out the sun with his girth. Dargonax looked down at the assembly of dragons and mortals, his eyes burning with infinite madness and insanity.

**"I WILL NOT BE UNDONE! THIS WORLD IS MINE!"**


	5. Disjunction Part 2

In that moment, time was held in suspense. She was at once aware of everything around her, and again closed off from the world. The tainted song of the planet ebbed away as her focus shifted upon a plane of extroversion. She felt the earth moan and turn beneath her claws, the kindling of storm force winds as dust choked currents buffeted against her prominent neck frill and voluminous wings. Through the dust the sun was yet visible, sparse photons reflected off the worn and chipped amethyst and gold bands encircling her horns, flickered upon the fire diamond ornaments dangling from either side of her head in a semblance of earrings.

Eyes the hue of a golden sunset narrowed in scorn as they fell upon the mutated behemoth filling the sky overhead. Crimson orbs like stars dipped in blood which brimmed with unbound hatred and agonized delirium stabbed back at her. Transfixing her gaze and holding fast to it, an endless pause followed as mother and child beheld one another through the open portals to their souls.

Sintharia saw nothing of the child she had originally created. Something twisted and profane had taken hold over him, warping him into something she could no longer recognize as hers. Centuries of effort brought to fruition, and in a single moment ruined. She could see Korialstrasz reverting to his true form to confront the incoming threat; part of Sintharia wanted nothing more than to turn on the red wyrm and rip his throat out for destroying her plans; but the rest of her sullenly acknowledged that the red consort's intervention had worked out in her favor, she was finally free.

Dargonax in turn drank in his creator's disdainful glare, allowed it to stoke his infernal rage. All pretense of motherly affection had been cast aside, revealing the weak and unworthy manipulator who still sought to stand against him. Her arrogance infuriated him.

"You must fall to me..." Dargonax hissed, "YOU MUST FALL!"

"I fall to no one!" Sintharia bellowed, thrusting herself into the sky with her powerful legs, wings carrying her higher towards him.

Sintharia was strong, she was the chiefest of the great wyrms remaining to the Black Dragonflight and by far the most ancient. She was also a mother, one who had spawned many generations of powerful black dragons. But most importantly she was really, really pissed off. She had endured more heartbreak and humiliation than any other being on Azeroth. Her own flight shunned her out of fear for Deathwing, little matter how disgusted they were for what he did to her. Most of her children were dead, used and discarded like tools, just as she was now. All in all, Sintharia felt like life owed her an apology. For now, she would settle for Dargonax's life.

"Sintharia, stop!" Korialstrasz roared from behind her. The irate matriarch duly ignored the Red's warning.

Her wings strained as she battled the wind for altitude, lips curled back in frustration as the currents sought to drag her down to the earth. But the Black Quuen in exile was nothing if not determined. Dargonax was diving down to meet her, his eyes ablaze with murderlust, his sheer size and mass enabling him to endure the freakish weather with ease. Sintharia was only slightly smaller than Dargonax, but she lacked the heavy build of her creation, she could not plow through the freakish wind like he could; but she did have one advantage.

As they closed distance, Sintharia angled her left wing upwards, cringing as it was struck with the full fury of a rogue current, nearly hyper-extending the limb, her body twisted about as she rapidly turned towards the wind, her right wing billowed and snapped taut as it too caught the gale. Sintharia had the sensation of flying backwards as she the strong air current pushed her along it's path, Dargonax overshot her with a howl of outrage. Her muscles screamed in protest as she forcefully angled downward in pursuit.

In his desperation, Dargonax had discarded his advantage of altitude, passing control of the engagement to Sintharia. It was a blunder that reflected the twilight dragon's inexperience. No amount of carefully metered enchantment and augmentation could have allowed Sintharia to endow combat experience to her creations. Dargonax had been merely a prototype, she had forgone any pretense of training him in favor of simple observation of his abilities and physical development, setting him as a benchmark for future generations. The only thing keeping the twilight afloat during the earlier confrontation with Korialstrasz and his allies was his ability to absorb their energy, turn ethereal, and of course his brute size and strength.

Sintharia had fifty-two thousand years of experience over Dargonax's few days. With her mind no longer sullied by darkness, she was free to utilize this advantage to the full.

In a fight between two dragons, physical might was not the prime deciding factor. One of the most important variables in aerial combat was altitude, which could be used to restrict the opponent's avenues for attack and evasion, or be transformed into speed for a diving attack or quick escape.

Not one to hesitate in the face of opportunity, Sintharia fell into a turning dive, Dargonax was already banking into a recovery, so Sintharia further utilized the wind to correct her angle of attack. Dargonax tried to turn into her dive, but it was already too late. Sintharia reached with her claws as she closed into the enormous mutant wyrm.

She was aiming to sever the tendons that controlled his wing muscles, buried at the rear-facing base of the wings. Such a blow would render Dargonax incapable of flight, and once grounded she would be able to make short work of him. Sintharia slammed into Dargonax, her claws tore into the scaled hide of his back, slicing into the soft skin beneath the natural armor. Dargonax bellowed in rage and agony, his body shimmered as eldritch energies boiled around him. The behemoth bucked and rolled in an attempt to dislodge the dragoness.

Sintharia held firm, she dug her left foreclaws deep into his flesh for purchase, savoring the black blood that surged from between her talons as she pushed herself further up Dargonax's back, her right claw lifted and matched coordinates with the vulnerable spot on his left pinion. Before she could humble her disloyal creation, a rogue blast of wind suddenly hit her from the side, forcing her wings to snap open. Sintharia screamed in frustration as the strong current tore her off Dargonax's back.

Dargonax wheeled about with a speed that should have been impossible for such a massive creature. Sintharia knew she would not recover from the drift in time.

The mutant plowed into her with a vengeance, Sintharia desperately slashed at him in an attempt to prevent him from grabbing her with his claws and crushing her. The molten fury of the earth spilled into her crop as she ejected a viscous stream of lava onto him at point blank, his scales and flesh smoldered upon contact. Dargonax snarled through the pain, and swung his box-shaped head into Sintharia's throat, the torrent ceased as the dragoness began coughing hoarsely in pain.

"I shall be free of you!" Dargonax bellowed, grabbing the gasping black consort with his claws, jaws wide open and descending upon her neck.

For an instant, Sintharia had trouble identifying her rescuer. A red comet had streaked out from the dusty murk and collided into Dargonax at the last possible second.

* * *

Korialstrasz had been on many strange adventures in his long life. But none had been as monumentally tasking as this one, save perhaps that time travel incident. To him it felt like this epic battle had been going on for an eternity, and no matter how hard her tried, victory continued to escape him. The red leviathan prided himself on cunning and resourcefulness, it was rare for him to meet an obstacle he could not circumvent or overcome. Dargonax was quickly becoming one of those obstacles.

No matter what they tried, Dargonax simply refused to die. He had survived Iridi's ploy to destabilize his body, and recently he survived Sintharia dropping a mountain on top of him. But he was weakening, and he was vulnerable.

Sintharia herself appeared to be in top condition, but even then Dargonax's strength was vast, reduced as it was. He knew she could not destroy her ill get alone, and if she died the secret of purifying black dragons would be lost.

It was this thought that drove him to save Sintharia's life, by colliding into her captor.

Dargonax screamed in rage and surprise as the force of impact nearly knocked him out of the sky, Sintharia was thrown free of his grasp, slightly dazed but otherwise fine. Dargonax swiftly retaliated by blindly lashing out with his breath weapon, forcing Korialstrasz to disengage before he was immolated by the unnatural purple flames. Dargonax banked away, riding on a wind current to get distance from the red dragon.

"Th-this is not your affair!" Sintharia's voice choked from behind him. Korialstrasz turned his head to see the black consort hovering behind and slightly above him, from this position he was at an extreme disadvantage if she decided to attack him.

"This is the entire world's affair now," Korialstrasz shot back, "Dargonax is an unnatural blight that threatens everything I hold dear to me, I will not let him live to spread his chaos any further!"

"He is _my_ responsibility; I created him, and it falls to me to unmake him." she countered.

"It's too late for me to back out now," Korialstrasz replied, "He's coming round for a counterattack."

_**"YOU WILL ALL DIE!" **_Dargonax roared, as he closed upon the two wyrms, _**"I will tear off your limbs, and feast upon your minds until your naught but empty husks!"**_

* * *

Iridi was rigid as a board as she felt raw power surging through her body. There was so much, too much for her puny frame to handle. The outside world had slipped away, leaving her to confront the chaos raging within her alone.

As she resisted the overwhelming pain, questions raced through her mind. What was happening to her? Were her friends okay? Did the plan work? The star burning inside her flesh yielded no answers to her. Only a command. _Endure._

Then the pain ended, and the world around her shifted.

She was now standing in the midst of a mighty forest, filled with trees that were thick around as she was tall. A light blanket of mist clung to the fern covered ground. She felt out of phase with her surroundings, as if she were but a lost spirit denied the closure of the Light and condemned to walk the cosmos in limbo.

A high pitched wail caught her attention, it came from nearby. Cautiously she wandered close to the source. As she came upon a thick stand of ferns, she furtively peeked over the green mass to see what manner of creature produced the desperate sound. Her breath hitched at what she saw.

It was a dragon. A baby dragon.

The whelp had scales the color of polished obsidian, wing membranes toned in burgundy, the color matched in the small rigid neck frill that encircled it's neck like a collar. Golden, hooded eyes set into an angular brow.

"Sinestra..." she whispered. Sintharia the whelp did not notice her, it simply continued to wail and croon, calling for a broodmother that would not come.

"All alone... I remember that feeling," a voice rumbled behind her.

"Zzeraku?" Iridi squeaked, turning around to see his ghostly, shrunken shape standing just a few yards away.

"I remember well what it feels like to be born without the comfort of a dam or sire," he said, gesturing to the forlorn whelp, "She and I are not too different."

"You are nothing like her!" Iridi exclaimed, "She is cruel... evil."

Zzeraku shook his head, "When I first met her, I was immediately terrified of what I saw in her. She stole me from my home, exposed me to a level of suffering and malice I had never before thought possible. I hated her, by the void I wanted to destroy her so much, and when I finally held her life in my hands... I finally saw her for who she truly was; a victim, possibly the greatest one in all of this."

"I don't understand. Why are you still alive, and why are you defending her?" Iridi said. The draenei priestess had always considered herself a forgiving person, her calling demanded that she extend such sentiment, even to the worst of criminals. But Sintharia was really pushing the envelope, she was utterly without reason, absolutely divorced from any redeeming traits.

"I defend her because I _was _her, had you met me if I was not her prisoner little draenei I would have destroyed you and thought nothing else of it. You showed me another way to exist, and through your example I believe I have opened the door for her as well," Zzeraku replied, looking intently down at Iridi.

"She has truly redeemed herself?" She questioned, still a little skeptical.

"No, not truly," Zzeraku answered, "Though her heart and mind have been freed from the darkness, her spirit is deeply wounded and twisted by hate."

"Why are you telling me this?"

The dragon bent his head low, "I am telling you this because I have come to a realization, and I would share it with you before I pass into the beyond. You have given me kindness and understanding that I still think I had scarcely any right to, where everyone else saw me as a mutant and aberration you saw me as an equal. And for that I am eternally grateful. And then I saw Sintharia, I glimpsed into who she truly was, behind all of her lies and poisonous intentions, there was never any true evil to be found. I saw who she was before her fall, and how she came to damnation, and with my own eyes I saw a residue of that lost dragoness come to the surface and realize what she had become, and rebel against it."

Iridi thought back to her encounters with the monstrous black dragon, both in her mortal guise and her mutilated true form. Her single eye burning with malevolent insanity, and behind that – pain of unfathomable intensity, pain not just from the burning scars tracked all over her body, but pain of the heart and soul.

"Deathwing did not just rape Sintharia, he betrayed her," Zzeraku explained, "This is the same being that showed her such fulfillment and joy as to nearly touch the divine, and then he destroyed it – no mortal scars, or sexual assault, could ever emulate the agony such base treachery instilled in her. She lost her connection to the world, her sense of identity when she lost him, _thirty-seven thousand _years of devotion and contentment instantly rendered meaningless."

Empathy was another thing encouraged in one of Iridi's calling, and right now, hers was being strained to the limit trying to grasp the despair and anguish that Sintharia must have felt, and she drew up short. Her life so far was but a flash in the dark compared to the amount of years that dragon endured upon Azeroth, what had happened to her almost reminded the priestess of the pain she suspected Velen harbored for the downfall of Archimond and Kiljaeden. But she doubted even the Prophet knew of suffering the likes that Sintharia struggled with for the last several millenia. No living creature deserved to go through what she did. But reality was hardly as sentimental as the beings that lived in it.

"How?" she said softly, "How can anyone exist like that?"

"I cannot say," Zzeraku admitted with a somber growl, "Perhaps she grew numb to the pain, or maybe she is just that strong. Either way her transformation has proven you the wiser for it little one."

Iridi nodded, taking the compliment without fuss, "But what of Dargonax, has the beast been destroyed?"

"It persists still," Zzeraku informed her, "Both it's creator and the red one fight to vanquish it, but I fear it will take more than former enemies working together to end his profane existence."

"What will it take?" Iridi asked, frightened by the idea that her near-fatal gambit had been unsuccessful. "How can we stop something that we cannot kill?"

"Dargonax is not immortal," the nether dragon corrected her, "It can be slain under the right circumstances, and this hour is as fortuitous as it will ever get. Sintharia has already humbled the beast; one of her dark creations, it has made her foul offspring vulnerable to a killing stroke. But even crippled as it is, the beast's power is great. They will need you're aid."

"What about you?" she asked.

"My time is done," Zzeraku said with a note of finality, "I no longer have the power to reconstitute myself, all that remains is what my kind have to pass for a soul, I cannot remain with you."

Iridi wanted to object, to ask him to stay with her, but the wisdom that her elders wrote into her mind from youth stayed her. _'Without an end, there is no peace.' _

"I'm sorry I could not save you," she decided to say.

"You already did that," Zzeraku corrected her, "And there is yet one more life that may be saved."

The nether dragon's form began to fade, "Goodbye... friend."

Iridi reached out to his disippating form, hand closing on empty air, she hung her head, "Farewell... Zzeraku."

* * *

Upon reawakening, Iridi first became aware of the dust choked wind blowing coarse grains upon her face. And then the rumble of thunder. And lastly the roars of dragons fighting to the death. Her body ached with pain, but the urgency of the situation forced her to banish it from her awareness as she took stock of her surroundings through squinted, glowing eyes. Looming above her a huge cerulean scaled face gazed down at her, relief clear in it's violet gaze.

"Iridi? You're awake!" Kalecgos growled with surprise as she shakily got to her cloven hooves, using her dimmed staff as a support.

"Where is Korialstrasz and Sintharia?" Iridi demanded without preamble, taking the young blue dragon off guard by the urgency of her tone.

"In the skies, fighting Dargonax; there!" She looked up to the skies in the direction his head turned to, and immediately picked out the three massive shapes circling overhead in a two on one duel. Korialstrasz was easily visible, the long gout of bright flame ejected from his maw caused his ruby scales to glimmer brilliantly in the dust shadowed midday sky. Half again larger than him was Sintharia, the great wyrm was trying to circle around their opponent that dwarfed both of them. Dargonax bore many wounds, and yet he seemed to be not in the least bit slowed down by them. If anything he seemed unaware of how much damage he had taken.

"I need to help them," she said, mostly to herself. But Kalecgos heard it clear as a bell.

"You nearly died of acute mana depletion, Iridi. You can't possibly be in any condition to challenge Dargonax."

"If Dargonax wins we are all doomed regardless, I need you to fly me up there Kalec." Iridi responded.

"What are you planning?" Rhonin asked, "Magic hasn't worked for us yet, and beating the crap out of him is proving just as futile."

"Sintharia did something to Dargonax," Iridi replied, looking up at the colossal twilight dragon, noting the bright pulses of light on the beast's chest. "Whatever it may be, it could be the key to finally ending this madness."

"But what about-" Kalecgos began. But Vereesa cut him off.

"We will be fine Kalec, if she says she can stop this, I believe her," the high elf ranger said firmly, taking her place next to her husband, who nodded in agreement.

Kalecgos looked between them before bowing his head with reluctant acquiescence. "Climb on then, and hold tight. These winds are merciless."

* * *

When she first came to Grim Batol, with Zendarin and her other minions, Sintharia could never expected that her stay in the cursed mount would have ended this way. In spite of the complete and total destruction of all her plans, Sintharia had gained something she had never thought possible; she had found release.

If any being had even suggested that she would end up fighting alongside her nemesis of old to put an end to her prize creation, she would have cackled madly before incinerating the fool. But now it was as if her entire world had been turned upside down, and she was working with the meddling red to accomplish just that.

_'Sintharia?' _a foreign voice questioned in her mind. The black matriarch hissed in outrage at the intrusion even as she narrowly evaded Dargonax's crushing grasp.

_'VACATE MY MIND AT ONCE FOOL!' _she mentally shouted at the intruder.

_'I need to know what you did to Dargonax! It may be the only way to destroy him!'_

She recognized the voice as that belonging to the draenei female that had accompanied the intrusion of Korialstrasz and his blue ally. Or Iridi as Zzeraku had named her. She was briefly taken aback by the sheer audacity of this alien in even thinking she would render assistance to one so beneath her, and even more so at the temerity the priestling had in communicating with her in such a manner.

_'_I _will be the one that ends his insubordinate life! You're assistance is even more unwanted than Korialstrasz's meddling!' _the dragoness retorted as she angrily attempted to force the presence from her mind.

_'Zzeraku died because of you!' _the voice came back at her with renewed intensity, _'I will not allow any more people to be hurt by your indiscretions! Now tell me how to stop Dargonax or by the light of the Naaru I will use the power he gave me to brand upon you a new set of scars!'_

Sintharia was not used to people talking to her like that, she had slaughtered more than enough disappointing lackeys to thoroughly discourage such blatant disrespect. The only exceptions were of course her most powerful, and therefore fondest enemies, such as Korialstrasz, but Iridi who to Sintharia possessed no relevant qualities beyond being entrusted an intriguingly powerful nicknack by her precious Naaru overlords, had no business saying such things and living a single moment beyond their utterance. But with her claws entrenched into other matters, the black dragon was in no position to destroy anything other than Dargonax, who was proving annoyingly resilient to her attacks.

_'It is a faulty reproduction of Balacgos's Bane, I fused it to Dargonax's body to prevent him from dematerializing. It is draining his energy and pushing it back into him in a destabilized state.'_

_ 'Will this kill him on it's own?'_

_ 'No, it will only disrupt his command over magic.' _the 'redeemed' consort sneered back.

'_I'll see what I can do to change that, just don't – WATCH OUT!'_

Distracted by the conversation, Sintharia did not see Dargonax's massive tail coming at her until moments before it struck her upside the head. The black dragon listed, dazed, before being carried off by a rogue wind and sent hurtling towards the earth.

* * *

Iridi watched aghast and helpless as Sintharia plummeted towards the ground, wings struggling to recover. She could only look on when the black dragon, whose exertions barely managed to slow her decent, plowed into the ground on her side, tumbling over three times before coming to a stop on her side, wings splayed out, one bent in a sickeningly unnatural position.

"Get us over there now!" Iridi ordered Kalecgos. The priestess was beside herself with shame, if she had not distracted Sintharia this would not have happened.

The blue dragon banked tightly towards the stricken wyrm. But they were not the only ones trying to reach her.

She knew her right wing was broken, and at least five of her ribs, and her right foreleg was most likely dislocated. She cursed herself for allowing that puny mortal to distract her. The only reason why she had not blacked out was because of her high tolerance for pain, ten millenia of suffering the constant feeling of being immolated inside her own skin had made retaining her wits through such discomfort a simple thing. But it still hurt. A lot.

A delighted roar above her telegraphed the fact that Dargonax had noticed her hopeless predicament and was now coming to put an end to her. She lifted her head, ignoring the wet pops her neck produced with the movement as she zeroed her gaze on the descending twilight dragon. Korialstrasz had been left behind in the dust, and would not be able to intervene in time.

Death. Deep down she had wanted it since the Earth Warder abandoned her so many years ago, then just as now she had felt like a complete failure. Her children were gone, the flight had moved on from her, and there was none left who would regret her passing.

As her killer approached, she could not help but think back to her children. Specifically Onyxia. She had been in a position to protect her once favored daughter from death, but had refrained out of spite. Onyxia had been the only one of her children to dare even try to connect with her after Deathwing ruined her. Out of anger she had pushed her away. With the end at hand, Sintharia now deeply regretted not accepting her daughter's solace, and even more for not stepping in when she needed her most. _'I'm so sorry my daughter... forgive mother for her arrogant stupidity.'_

Then her mind turned on to her best friend of old, not of her flight, but of the blue. Sindragosa had been her truest friend, on top of having similar names, she and Malygos' prime consort had been thick as nest mates, sharing many things in common and like her believing that the flights were not meant to operate in the shadows, away from the mortals that could have so benefited from their wisdom. Sindragosa had disappeared during the War of the Ancients, and was most likely dead. _'I failed you my friend... it will have to be someone else that avenges us.'_

Before she could finish making peace with the memories of the long list of dragons she had failed, a blue shape landed in front of her and blocked out her vision.

* * *

Iridi stood on the frightened but stalwart blue's shoulders, staff in hand as she gazed up at the snarling visage of Dargonax. The twilight looked not in the least concerned as it bore down on them with claws outstretched.

**"I SHALL NOT BE DENIED!" **the insane beast roared, as it landed in front of them and reared up to strike down Kalecgos and his passenger.

The draenei priestess narrowed her eyes and drew her staff carrying arm back, holding the blessed weapon like a javelin. She did not know if this would work, but it was the only path left to her. She only hoped the Naaru would be as understanding.

Just as the abomination was about to tear into them, Iridi's staff erupted into eldritch colorless flames. With balance and focus granted to her by her chosen calling, she cast the staff at her foe.

The staff struck the pulsating cube shape of the Faux Bane lodged in Dargonax's chest, there was a concussive explosion as both objects shattered in a burst of red mist which wrapped around Dargonax whose expression swiftly changed from triumph to horror and disbelief.

_**"NO! I am Dargonax! I am invincible! I was to inherit everything!" **_The dragon screamed hysterically as white flames erupted all over his body. As his body was consumed, Dargonax unleashed one last ear-deafening screech before his body completely conflagrated, his last angered glance directed at Sintharia.

* * *

Korialstrasz alighted gently upon the ground, his claws digging deep into the broken loamy earth. In that moment, all he could feel was relief. Dargonax was no more. Indeed all that remained of the terrible creature was a petrified, desiccated husk, emitting vaporous trails of the same energy that tore him apart.

Kalecgos stood sentinel over Sintharia's broken but miraculously still living body. Iridi stood next to him, looking down at the fallen consort with an indeterminable expression.

"Come to gloat Korialstrasz?" She hissed angrily, "There is nothing left for me, how can you possibly bring me any lower?!"

The red leviathan looked down at the larger, elder female with something approaching pity. He made a decision and approached the black dragon. Sintharia shifted in an attempt to get away as Korialstrasz rested one of his claws right behind her jaw at the base of her neck.

"No! Don't you dare-!" the matriarch growled. Korialstrasz ignored her objections, as he used his powers to halt the passage of blood into her brain. The black dragon moaned weakly before her head collapsed to the ground, completely unconscious.

With that business sorted, he gazed over to the site where Grim Batol once stood. _When she destroyed the mountain, the evil it contained fell with it. _The power of the Black Dragonflight never ceased to amaze and frighten the red dragon. He looked down at the insensate dragoness who had been the cause of Grim Batol's darkness and it's final destruction. Her sleeping mind no longer burned with unnatural madness, it was purified.

Rhonin and Vareesa joined them a few minutes later.

"Looks like we are late again dear," Rhonin muttered to his silver haired wife.

"It is over," the red replied as he changed into Krasus. Iridi chose that moment to approach the group.

"Indeed it is done, and so too is my quest," the draenei affirmed, "Praise be to Zzeraku for his part in ending this, Azeroth is once again safe."

"What will you do now? Return to Outland?" Kalec asked, having shifted to his own half-elven guise after the red put Sintharia to sleep.

"Maybe some day," she replied, "I miss my home, but I would like to see more of this world of marvels before leaving it behind."

"I know of the perfect place to start," the blue said to her, "It will be some time before my lord expects me back."

"I would be honored to travel with you Kalec," Iridi bowed. The blue smiled before shifting back, and allowing Iridi to climb upon his shoulders. The blue turned to Rhonin and Vareesa.

"I am privileged to have met you both... I hope to do so again under less dire circumstances." to Krasus he added, "You are a dick, Krasus. But I now understand why you do what you do... even if I disagree with your methods."

The dragon mage smiled, accepting the jab, "She will always be proud of you, Kalecgos."

"Please, I prefer Kalec."

"Thank you for all you have done Kalec, and you too Iridi."

The draenei smiled down at him, "I have a feeling this won't be the last time we meet each other, Krasus. Until then I wish you good health, and long days."

The blue dragon rose into the darkening sky, circling around before heading north, to a new and exciting journey.

"What are you going to do about her?" Rhonin asked, gesturing to Sintharia.

"I am taking her to my queen, she will be safe in our custody and cause no further harm to the world under my flight's watch. Perhaps with treatment, she can begin to have a normal life again. And possibly open the door for others of her kind."

"I'll believe it when I see it." the red haired spellcaster said skeptically.

The friends said their farewells, and Korialstrasz teleported the couple away, back to their children.

With that act finished, Korialstrasz turned to his long-time enemy and rested a hand on her black scales, "I am sorry for becoming your jailer so soon after you freed yourself from the old one. I do this only in your best interests, and some day I hope you will understand that."

His piece said, Krasus walked a dozen paces away from the sleeping black female, and he waited.

* * *

Deep beneath the shattered sump of what used to be Grim Batol, tunnels now mostly collapsed riddled the depths of the earth. These tunnels, once connected to the city before Sintharia obliterated it, extended further than even the estranged consort dared to delve.

Within a massive chamber, a pair of insane fiery eyes glared up at the sagging ceiling that had until recently been completely stable.

"Sinestra... my foolish plaything," Deathwing snarled. The bitch's stunt had nearly crushed him and the fruits of _his _project between a fault line; he had to flex a considerably portion his stolen power to keep the chamber from being completely destroyed.

At this moment, Deathwing was livid with Sintharia. Not for the fact she had nearly dropped an entire mountain fortress on his head, but for the fact that she had escaped him. After breaking the fool Earth Warder, he had taken the whelp's mates as spoils of conquest. Deathwing held none of the love and respect Neltharion had for his consorts, he wanted to underscore his victory over the pathetic Aspect, and what better way to do that than to force him to watch as his body was used to desecrate everyone and everything he ever loved?

Gone was the lovely, compassionate Sintharia of the past. Never more would she sing to the earth to enrich it with her pure spirit. Never again would she know the joys of motherhood. He had destroyed that dragoness, and remade her in his image. For the last ten-thousand years the female had been a wonderful source of on-again-off-again entertainment, every time she tried to settle down and rebuild he would promptly crush her 'fresh start' in front of her eyes, her tears of defeat and shame always brought him such succulent delight.

But then something changed. Sintharia stopped trying to rebuild or do anything of note, and at the time Deathwing feared he had broken his second favorite toy. She had secluded herself in a cave, did nothing but stare at the walls and waste away; he could not have that. It was at that point he decided to use her as a tool instead of an idle distraction; by using the mostly defunct mating bond the Earth Warder once fondly shared with her, he found he was able to put thoughts into the black matriarch's demented mind. He whispered to her poisonous words of encouragement, lifting her out of depression and filling her with false hope. In that moment, the exiled queen had become the unknowing pawn.

This new Sinestra was an interesting change of pace, her brimming confidence and eagerness brought forth feelings of dark amusement in the malefic body snatching persona. The fool truly believed she had taken back her life, that she was now in control. Such delicious arrogance, such outrageous conceit, the very idea had kept the maniac giggling to himself for hours on end.

For every second of those five-hundred and twenty-four years, Deathwing had wanted nothing more than to reveal his deception to her, just to see that newfound confidence wither and die, to see the look on her face when she realized she had been a dupe all along. But instead of rushing to instant gratification, Deathwing savored his sick desire, harbored and nursed it all this time, letting his need to see her break wax over the passage of time. And when that time finally came, he was on the edge of his tail in excitement as he felt the first hints of realization dawn on her mind. He had countless times invisioned her will to live failing right then and there, with her begging him to put her out of her misery. Which he would oblige... slowly, excruciatingly; just like the others.

But that is not what had happened.

Sintharia rebuked him, and shortly after that, the chains of his masters in the deep.

Was it really so much to ask, Deathwing thought, for his schemes to proceed smoothly as they had for the last thousand centuries? It seemed it was too much to ask. Damn Sintharia for not being a good point-and-shoot weapon, like that now antiquated blunderbuss he once borrowed from a drunken Ironforge guard that one time six-hundred years ago (which had given him the idea in the first instance).

Still it wasn't a total loss, he still achieved the end objective. He had the twilight eggs safely in his possession, the Old Gods would have their army. But Deathwing was still loathe to part with his blunderbuss, he still had a use for her, he had even drawn up plans for the future, most of those plans being inspired by an incognito trip to an adult toy store in Lordaeron a few decades back. _She would have made such a fine sex doll/egg factory._

* * *

As Deathwing mused upon the unwelcome development of losing one of his toys, something stirred at the far edge of his consciousness. Bright, emerald green eyes flared in the darkness, narrowed in contempt. The Vestige knew not how long he had suffered in the darkness, time had long ceased to matter to his ravaged half-conscious mind, but no longer was this the case, for these eyes had witnessed a miracle through the gaze of his tormentor. Spurred by the courage of the loved one he failed to protect, the Vestige silently vowed not to do so again.

* * *

**A/N: And so Dargonax dies, Sintharia is bound to being carted off to the Red Dragonflight's custody, and Deathwing is being an asshole. And best of all I am running off CII's vision of the character, with Squishy making an appearance at the end. **


	6. The Nexus Plot

The first thing to run through Sintharia's mind upon crawling back to consciousness was a silent vow to hunt down the infuriating red that put her under and make him pay. Following after that was a nasty sensation of cold that penetrated her thickest scales and gripped upon the soft ruddy flesh beneath. Sintharia was not used to feeling cold, she had forgotten what cold was supposed to feel like. Despite the discomfort, it was strangely liberating to feel something other than being constantly burned.

_The scars!_

Sintharia's golden eyes flashed open, she had been lying on her side, body curled slightly inward, so the state of her own body was the first thing she was able to assess. The violent, burning gashes that once marked the right side of her abdomen was no longer there, in it's place there was only subtle rises in the flow of scales, hinting at the residual weals on the skin beneath that had been left as a grim silent testament to the unspeakable act of sadism Deathwing inflicted upon her. She noted as she continued her self examination that every single one of her scars had been similarly healed.

That explained her sudden sensitivity to cold. For the last ten-thousand years she had been numb to any other sensation beyond pain, over time she had managed to filter some of it out of her awareness but never all of it. Now that the agony had abated, sensations that she had in another life taken for granted felt strange and alien to her.

Reluctantly, Sintharia tore her eyes away from her self appraisal to take in her surroundings. She was lying inside a large underground chamber, but not of the like she was familiar with. For one it was unusually well lit, courtesy of the luminous globes that hovered close to the ceiling. There was a great abundance of plant life mostly in the form of wildflowers and hanging vines. Small streams cut through the floor, fed by a waterfall at the other end of the chamber and evacuated by a large crack near her position where the streams joined and flowed out as one.

At the center was dominated by a large tree of a like that Sintharia had not encountered in the wild. It stood upon thick, vibrant brown roots and a bulbous trunk which led to branches supporting a bountiful bouquet of uniform red leaves. She could smell the magic imbuing it all the way from here, and as she took it in, another aroma made itself known to her. The scent of dragons. Red dragons.

A hiss of outrage escaped her. _Korialstrasz! _The red worm had taken her prisoner at the conclusion of the battle. The very idea of being her enemy's captive made her heart sag with humiliation, she did not even have the satisfaction of killing Dargonax to soften the gouging blow to her already battered pride. She was never going to live this down.

The black matriarch unsteadily got to her feet, noting that the reds had evidently seen fit to heal the injuries she sustained from her battle with Dargonax and the disastrous crash landing that effectively incapacitated her, she fully intended to make them regret doing so. But first she would explore her new prison.

She made her way over to one of the nearby pools, slaking her thirst with a few long droughts of the crystal clear water. Fortified she was about to continue her exploration when she noticed her rippling reflection in the recently disturbed water. Curious she waited for the surface of the pool to still until she could clearly see her own image looking back at her.

Before the madness of Deathwing, Sintharia had always taken great pride in her appearance. She would spend hours bathing in mineral rich mud to maintain the youthful appearance of her scales, lock herself in steam vents to soften up the complexion of her wings and neck frill, took pains to always keep her claws and teeth free of cracks or chips. She simply loved looking her best. After Deathwing branded her body with burning scars, the whole effort felt like a lost cause, she was a broken, mutilated hag that nobody would ever appreciate.

But now, gazing into her restored features she found herself becoming increasingly anxious with how _plain _she looked. Ages of neglect had robbed her scales of their former iridescent black luster, and she noted that quite a few scales had ragged or discolored edges, there was no longer any excuse to look this shabby. What truly mortified her was the state of the jewelry she wore. These were not simple decorations, they were part of who she was, and each piece had it's own story behind it. The cuffs hugging her horns meshed perfectly with the contours, triangular cuts of radiant purple crystal locked together at opposing sides to wrap around the bands; over time the gold rims had dulled, and the crystal settings had become scratched and chipped.

For a moment she allowed herself to be taken away from her current predicament as rough plans for a makeover flew through her mind, it helped cheer her up a little. _Lets see, I will need a mud volcano large enough to fit me... or failing that an artificial one with a few firesalts thrown in. Mix in some volcanic ash and that peat I noticed in the Wetlands... yes that will bring out my colors nicely._

She shook herself out of these thoughts, they were completely inappropriate for situation in which she found herself. She needed to formulate a plan of escape, and for that she needed to figure out what measures the reds had seen fit to contain her with.

She moved about the chamber awkwardly, even though she knew that the scars would no longer trouble her, her body was used to moving in a way that caused the least amount of discomfort, tremors quaked her limbs whenever she tried to distribute her weight evenly; adjustment would take time. But still it frustrated her, even though her body was whole again, she still felt broken on the inside. Her first instinct was to blame Zzeraku for her messed up emotional state, which in turn completely validated the nether dragon's words.

Throughout the millennia, Sintharia had cultivated a very high opinion of herself. It was rare in the extreme for her to admit fault of any kind and she had a tendency to lay blame upon lesser heads. And it all came back to Deathwing, and the torment he had inflicted upon her. But more specifically the question: 'Why?'

Sintharia morbidly feared the answer to that simple question. Before Deathwing, there had been Neltharion, her mate. She had been with other dragons before she ascended to the position of Prime Consort, all of those dragons had been gentle with both her body and her feelings, they had been very close friends and worthy sires to her first clutches. But Neltharion had been the only one to ever capture her heart. Theirs was a love that had outlasted empires and ran as deep as the core of the world.

So why did he betray her?

_ 'Because he never loved me.' _that had been the answer she had used to satisfy that terrible question ever since the War of the Ancients.

There was another answer, one that haunted the deepest corners of her soul.

_ 'Because I allowed it to happen.'_

It made perfect sense when one thought about it. As his Prime Consort, the one supposedly closest to his heart, she should have naturally been the one most qualified in curbing the Black Aspect from the path of insanity. Only that never happened. Deathwing raped her, and shattered the world along with her heart she so foolishly trusted him with.

It was simpler and likely more accurate to believe she never had any control over Neltharion's fall into madness. But thoughts to the contrary would continue to trouble her now and then. But she would not shed tears over it.

_'I will not reflect on this. The last time I gave in, I had eighty years of depressive madness for my weakness. I can't go through that again.'_

Completing a circuit of the chamber, Sintharia now stood before the only clear exit, and the problem she faced immediately became apparent. A wall of roots and vines obstructed it, the sweet smell of nectar radiated from the copious amounts of wildflowers blooming from the vines. She knew instantly that his was not Korialstrasz's doing, this had Alexstrasza's name written all over it. The warm aura of the Red Aspect's magic was potent here, Sintharia doubted that even her lava breath would be able to eradicate the bulwark of vegetation. The black matriarch frowned at the thought.

Without a second of further hesitation, Sintharia reared back and summoned molten fire into her crop before unleashing it full force against the offending foliage. The lava tore down the vines and smouldered the roots. Elation filled her heart at the sight of the destruction, and was about to clear out more of the vegetation when suddenly the roots shifted and shook off the volcanic rock like dead skin, and vines swarmed the breach and filled it completely. But it did not stop there.

Vines shot up all around her, Sintharia backed away and roared in surprise as her legs became entangled with the thick brown growths, she struggled against them using all her might in an attempt to pull herself free. More vines crawled over her back and began forcing her to a lying position. She loosed a whine of protest as her legs gave out under the enormous weight.

When her body was flush against the ground, the vines finally stopped overwhelming her. Unable to move Sintharia could only growl in anger.

A few minutes later, she heard the roots and vines covering the exit shift, she looked to see them parting to admit the one being she did not want to see.

"I see you went and angered the Evergrowth," Korialstrasz huffed, his large crimson form hovering over her.

"Korialstrasz! You disgraceful concentration of Fel corrupted cloacal scale rot! Release me at once!" She snarled, her eyes narrowed in anger.

"That is not my decision," the red responded, "The Evergrowth may be a product of my Flight but only the Queen may issue commands to it, and she is not here. You are going to have to apologize."

Sintharia balked at the suggestion, she apologized to no one.

"I will do no such thing," she replied, putting her thoughts to words.

"Then bound you shall remain," the red returned.

"Just go away!" She hissed.

Korialstrasz did not make any move to leave, "Despite what you might think, I did not come here to vex you Sintharia, I am simply here to illuminate you to the situation in which you have found yourself. Do you know where we are?"

"I suspect you are about to tell me." Sintharia replied in a tone that implied disinterest.

"You have been here before," Korialstrasz said pointedly, "Twelve millenia ago to be precise, this is the Myrd'lein Sanctuary."

Now that he mentioned it, there was something familiar about this place, "The Marching Court." She said to herself.

"I see you have not completely forgotten," the red observed, "Sadly, the court is but a shadow of what it once was, but the annual march is still a spectacle that should not be missed."

"Is there a purpose behind your witless banter? If there is I suggest you proceed to it."

The red snorted, lowering his head down to meet her eyes, "Very well, I shall make it plain for you. From this point forward you are a ward of the Red Dragonflight, until such a time you are no longer deemed a threat to Azeroth."

"No longer a- explain yourself Korialstrasz!" She hissed.

The red leviathan did not answer at first, instead he looked upward and waved his claw. Sintharia felt the vines holding her down slither away. Her first instinct was to lash out at Korialstrasz, but that thought was quickly overriden by another. _What's the point? _Attacking the red would only exacerbate her current situation, especially considering there was likely an army of red dragonkin guarding this place.

Then there was a fact that behind the animosity, she did have genuine _respect _for Korialstrasz. He had outmaneuvered her _twice _now, and while she abhorred those defeats, they were well earned on his part. Additionally in the grand scheme of things Korialstrasz was not her true enemy, Deathwing was – who also happened to be Korialstrasz's greatest enemy. So at least _some _consideration was warranted.

"You said you could not command it," Sintharia growled as she rose to her full height.

"I asked it nicely, it was well within ability to refuse," Korialstrasz answered, satisfied she was not about to attack.

"Whatever," the matriarch scoffed, "I am more interested in why you are bothering with this pretense."

"I will not lie to you Sintharia, some among my flight would see you dead for your transgressions, particularly the broodmothers whose clutches you have stolen. You deserve scorn, but you also deserve a second chance, especially considering your present condition."

"What are you talking about?" Sintharia asked, not liking the direction this was going.

"When you partook of Zzeraku's essence, it changed you, you no longer harbor the sickening rot that taints the rest of your kin; and we need to know why."

Sickness. Sintharia recalled Mytheria alluding to such things when she was unconscious in Dargonax's grasp. Now that she thought about it she _did _feel different. Everything felt clearer now, her eyes once clouded now perceived the world with sharp focus; her mind once mired with intrusive thoughts and whispers was cleaner now if still broken by her traumatic past. She had never felt more at ease in over ten-thousand years.

"So I am to be experimented upon? I didn't think you reds had it in you."

"All the more... personal auguries were performed while you were unconscious, now it is simply a matter of observation, so long as you do not attempt to escape you shall not be harmed."

Escape? The idea had felt so attractive a while ago, it felt like the right thing to do. Defiance was just another part of her character, one that had helped her up until now. But she was also weak and had zero allies on the outside, and no shelter from Deathwing who was apparently still alive. Here she could recover her strength behind a screen of red scales, waiting for the opportune moment to rise again. Though it stung her pride, she had no other realistic choice but to go along with this. At least not now.

Korialstrasz looked upon the black dragoness as she remained silent. Without the horrible burn marks and partially melted face, she was indeed beautiful, if a little rough around the edges. The signs of age were heavy on her however, the pleasant and mirthful shine her eyes once held in the far past was replaced by a cynical calculating gaze; many scales were ragged and ill kept. Then there was the way she moved, delicate and cautious, as if she half-expected the next movement to fill her with searing agony, much like a dog that had been beaten with sticks as a puppy entering a new home for the first time. It could be centuries before Sintharia would ever be able to recover from what Deathwing had done to her, and even then it would most likely not be a complete recovery.

The silence stretched on agonizingly. Had this been a conversation between mortals, Korialstrasz would have brought up some reason to excuse himself to break the awkwardness. But dragons were patient creatures, Korialstrasz would wait for her to break silence first, either in asking him to leave or extending their discourse further.

For some reason the pause was relieving.

The Sintharia of several days past would have not been as passive as the one before him. He could still see the anger and shame burning inside her, but it was not wild and out of control, she was keeping it in check – if only barely.

This was what convinced Korialstrasz that Sintharia could be saved, she was once more capable of exercising rational thought, as well as restraint. But how far those virtues went was another question altogether – one that would be decisive in her rehabilitation.

Korialstrasz was surprised to find that he actually _wanted _to help her, despite everything she had done to him and countless innocents. He still could not bring himself to forget those atrocities however, so the reasons for such earnest desire lay well beyond the dragon herself. Maybe it was hope that motivated him. Hope that the steady decline of dragonkind could be turned around with the redemption of just one black dragon, which could lead to the rest of the cursed flight to return to the fold.

"You really hate me, don't you?" she suddenly asked, as if reading his thoughts.

"I don't think really highly of you, yes." Korialstrasz answered.

She laughed bitterly, "The feeling is mutual, but far more complicated for me."

She turned her head around to gaze at him, "Beyond Deathwing, you were my most powerful enemy, and for that I respect you. Had it been any other member of your flight, I may have torn out their throat."

"You say enemy in the past tense, what are we if not at odds with one another?" Korialstrasz inquired, eyes narrowing at her suggestion of violence against his kin.

"An obstacle," she answered with a sharp look, "But one I shall not underestimate again."

"You seek to overcome me?" The red leviathan challenged.

"We shall see won't we?" Sintharia answered.

It seemed she was intent on remaining a conniving bitch. Or maybe she was just trying to provoke him. But something told him she was _definitely _hiding something. From personal experience in dealing with black dragons – particularly this one – he had learned to take their word with a pinch of salt; the only time they ever seemed to tell the truth was when they held every possible advantage.

At this moment, Sintharia held no advantage, so what she says and what she thinks likely rested on separate poles.

"It would serve your own interests to remain here. You have no home, no allies, or resources out there – how can you ignore that?" She had to realize this.

"My best interests died with Grim Batol," the black dragon spat.

"If I recall correctly, it was you who sundered the mount."

"That was a mistake," Sintharia answered quickly, with a noticeably agitated growl, "One that will _not _be repeated again."

"The region is still in turmoil; elementals still roam the area and earth tremors are occuring with increasing regularity, just what did you do?"

"What makes you think I know?" the black scoffed "I have not indulged in the Titans gift until just recently; as it stands my recollection of elementalism is rather thin these days."

_And yet that did not stop you from splitting a fault line apart. _Korialstrasz hissed mentally. He knew she was lying, but lacked the proof to call her out on it. The dwarves were already calling the desolated area _Sinestra's Folly, _a scathing but sadly fitting title – Sintharia had been extremely foolish.

However, the fact that Sintharia had reconnected to the original element of her flight was nothing short of a miracle. What he did not tell Sintharia was that for every broodmother that wanted her head, there was another dragon investing in the potential fruits of her redemption, the Life Binder herself foremost among them.

Alexstrasza had wanted to speak to the Black Matriarch first, but Korialstrasz had dissuaded her after a long debate. The dragonqueen was too emotionally attached to the issue to approach it objectively, she would most likely smother Sintharia with pity and affection – a sure fire way to completely ruin the black female's already sour mood. The best way to go about this was to give Sintharia time and space to come to terms with her past and present, from there he could move things steadily forward.

"Are you still able to use those powers?" he asked her.

Sintharia glared irritably at him, she was already tiring of this conversation. She could not explain why she had indulged in her nemesis' weakness for speech to this extent, but now as the subject matter strayed into uncomfortable territory she found herself growing weary of him.

The horrible truth was that not only was she incapable of using elemental magic, she also felt that her previous connection to shadow magic had been arrested somehow. The idea of admitting to her nemesis that he could effortlessly overpower her any time he wished felt absolutely nauseating. While she knew that the red was far too moral to ever take advantage of her, the reservations remained.

In the end she said nothing, knots of shame bunched in her chest as she turned her amber gaze down to the root matted rock between her forelegs.

Korialstrasz fortunately got the hint that she no longer desired to speak with him, a look of disappointment crossed his featured before he turned away. But before he left he said one last piece.

"Our past is what moulds us into what we are," he said with a tone of melancholy, "But it cannot define who we can be."

He turned and walked to the exit, the giant roots reforming behind him leaving Sintharia to lament her new circumstances, and ponder the Red Consort's parting words.

* * *

A massive blue dragon sat upon a raised dais in the center of a vaulting crystalline chamber. A constellation of arcane runes and sigils orbited him like a miniature globular cluster. The dragon's somewhat small wings were outstretched, their membranes glowing softly with arcane energies, the same kind that infused the sigils.

This was the lord of the Blue Dragonflight, Malygos the Spellweaver.

The last several months had been an interesting time for the warden of magic. After spending so many centuries locked in a state of traumatic shock, the Great Blue was having tremendous difficulty getting back to work.

Malygos looked upon one of the runes, his buttery yellow glowing eyes narrowed in frustration. He knew that he had been lax in his duties, but such knowledge had done little to prepare him for the reality created by his inaction. The realm of magic had devolved after so long going unpoliced, the ignorant races of mortalkind mettled with powers they scarcely understood. And so he made plans to correct them of these errors.

At first he had wished to conduct a circumspect elimination of the more senseless mage cells, the ones that openly cavorted with demonic powers and chaotic magicks, and then manipulate the magical factions through infiltration into adopting more acceptable modes of operation. but lately he had felt a pressing need to take more overt action.

He reasoned this urgency was born from the guilt of spending the last ten-thousand years doing literally fuck all. Perhaps deep down he figured that coming out of seclusion big and loud would somehow atone for this shame.

The blue aspect was conflicted, on one hand he had a job to do, and on the other there was the other flights to think about, namely the Red Dragonflight.

It was no secret Alexstrasza and him never really saw eye to eye in this day and age. In her defense much of that had been his fault. After the War of the Ancients, Malygos had no desire to interact with anyone, even his fellow aspects, over the centuries since that time Alexstrasza had sent numerous invitations for a private meeting between the two demi-gods, he had ignored them all and eventually they stopped coming. Perhaps he would accept the next one, or send it himself, perhaps then they could find a way to resolve the rampant misuse of magic without sparking an internecine struggle between them.

_In the meantime, I believe she would hardly object to the extermination of a few warlock covens. _He thought to himself. Yes, it was best to play this slow and easy for now, the mortals were far more susceptible to machinations that extended over centuries, rather than direct confrontation.

_**'It would be too late by then.' **_A thought came to him. _**'They must be reigned in now before it's too late.'**_

_'There is always time,' _he thought to himself, _'Rash actions will only work against me.'_

_**'If I do not defend my charge with all my power, my flight will lose faith in me.'**_

_'My flight already has issue with me,' _Malygos argued with himself, _'I am not blind to their displeasure with this new course I have set us upon. Full scale war will only make this worse.'_

Malygos tightened his jaw in frustration as one of the runes wavered, sinking closer to the carved manastone floor. Was he getting rusty with old age?

_**'The mortals have tainted the magical essence of Azeroth, they have twisted and manipulated it to their short-sighted desires, and in doing so they have damaged ME as well.'**_

Unbidden a deep growl crawled up from the Great Blue's throat and past his bared teeth, his eyes brightened as he unconsciously called upon the Titan's gift. His flight wondered why he had no good thoughts about mortal spellcasters, but they were not as tightly connected to the arcane essence of the planet as he was. Words alone could not describe the intense feeling of violation he had felt upon emerging from his maddened seclusion, to see such utter wrongness perpetrated upon his charge by mortals; it had taken all of his willpower not to fly directly to Dalaran and level the place personally, he knew Korialstrasz would have taken such an action with ill humor, and would likely bring the red and blue flights to war.

_I should have listened to Sindragosa all along. _The great blue thought sadly. After all this time his heart still ached for his long deceased Prime Consort, especially now when he needed her more than ever before. She would know how to fix this mess.

The only consolation he had now was that Deathwing – _Neltharion –_ was no longer a threat to his flight. Malygos took no pleasure in the fact that the Great Black was now most likely dead; no matter how far he had fallen Neltharion was his brother and part of him wondered if there was any way the whole Sundering fiasco could have been prevented.

_'Why did you turn against us Brother? You were supposed to be the reasonable one!' _Indeed how could such a paragon of harmony and balance fall so low?

_'Perhaps the answer can be found in a mirror.' _The Spell Weaver thought bitterly. _'What was it they call me these days? Malygos the Mad? Foolish whelps don't no the meaning of loss as I do, they have no right to judge me!'_

_**'They must pay for their defiance.'**_

The Great Blue quashed the thought as soon as it arose. His mind was obviously still broken to some degree, he needed peace and tranquility, he could not afford to act on impulse.

"Lord Malygos?"

His concentration broken, the runes fell to the floor at once, many breaking on contact.

"What is it?!" The blue aspect demanded, wheeling around to behold the one who had interrupted him. The fire in his belly died as he realized who it was.

"Saragosa? I- sorry, I did not notice you approach."

The female dragon bowed her head with deference. Saragosa was one of his consorts and the guardian of the Eye of Eternity. She was a fairly large wyrm with a strong jaw and an impressive set of horns, but she was also fairly thin, to the point of looking malnourished.

"I felt your distress my lord, I wanted to make sure you were alright."

Malygos could not help but smile despite himself. "It is nothing to worry yourself about, old age is simply playing tricks on me."

"With respect lord Malygos; I do not believe you."

The aspect's shoulders slumped, "I'm just having trouble adjusting," he admitted, "Sometimes I feel like I am losing myself again."

"I trust your judgment Spell Weaver, all of us do."

"Kalecgos would disagree," the Great Blue snorted.

"He has been disagreeable ever since coming back from Quel'danas," Saragosa pointed out, "He mourns that Anveena apparition."

"He grieves for something that was never alive in the first instance," he sneered, "He fell for an illusion manufactured for the sole purpose of disguising a font of arcane power, itself the product of vainglorious fools whose ambitions nearly brought an end to this world."

"Anveena was real to him," Saragosa countered, "Even with the Sunwell returned to it's true state, the red consort's falsehood influences him still."

"Korialstrasz has always been fond of his little tricks," Malygos sniffed, "But I cannot fault his intent. Mortals need to be protected, especially from themselves."

"So you intend to go through with it? War upon all magic users." Saragosa asked.

Malygos was silent for a moment, "I don't want to kill anyone," he said slowly, "I already have the blood of my brother on my claws, and I would not wish to have more lives destroyed on my account. But I feel as though my will is being forced on the issue."

"Deathwing betrayed us all my lord, he needed to be destroyed." she defended, "You should not burden yourself with his death, there was no other way."

"I failed him Saragosa, just like I failed all of you by caving into my own pain. If only I had kept a closer watch on him, I could have doused the fires in his mind before they kindled into madness. I failed in my duty as an aspect and as a brother. But I will not fail again, it's no longer an option."

"Maybe you should take a break my lord, you have been pushing yourself too hard."

_**'Yes we should take a break. What's a few more days of dereliction of duty on top of the millions I have already clocked? It's not like my so-called allies can think any less of me at this point.'**_

"I can't stop now," Malygos replied in a tone heavy with shame, "I cannot excuse another moment of idleness."

_**'I must suffer and bleed for this world, it is mine to protect. I will kill to protect it!'**_

"I will fight for what is important with all I have," Malygos continued, "For if I do not, I will have nothing and deserve it."

Saragosa sighed, "You are exhausted my lord. You are not helping anyone by compromising yourself like this."

_'Titans watch over me; she's right,' _the Great Blue thought wearily. While his body held nigh endless energy, his mind was not so fortunate. The Spellweaver was cursed with a long memory, recollections of joyful days long replaced by ones of sorrow and hardship, and the hopes of a brighter future slipping from his claws like water. It was because of these memories he was so determined to bring the world back to the gold standard of the past, perhaps then he would finally find the peace he had desired for so long.

Turning his gaze back to Saragosa he frowned as he noticed a patch of discoloration just below her wing joint.

"The affliction..." Malygos whispered, "It is back."

His guardian turned her head to look at the patch with a defeated expression etched upon her face.

"It always comes back," she said sadly.

For the past three months, Saragosa had been battling a menacing evil within her body that looked and behaved like some kind of cancer. Whatever it may be, it was consuming Saragosa's magical energy faster than her body produced it, forcing her to regularly consume outside sources of arcane power. At this stage she was incapable of surviving outside the Nexus, and away from the Spell Weaver's side.

"You should have come to me the moment the symptoms returned." Malygos growled.

"Forgive me, my lord," she said, "I did not wish to add my troubles to your own."

_'Just another heap on the existing mountain.' _Malygos thought tiredly. _'But I will do whatever it takes.'_

"Hold still," he instructed.

Saragosa watched as Malygos leaned forward and pressed his snout against her brow. Both dragons glowed as arcane power flowed from Aspect to Guardian. The discoloration had faded, and his consort appeared less listless than when she first came in.

"Thank you," she said gratefully.

"I do not want to lose you," Malygos said quietly, "I will not allow this curse to take you away from my side."

Saragosa looked up to him, eyes brimming with friendship and endearment. She moved closer to him and rested her head upon his shoulder. "I never doubted you."

Malygos embraced his consort in silence, hoping against all hope that these joyful moments would not be the last they shared.

* * *

Meanwhile in the depths of Coldarra, a smaller blue wyrm listened to the end of the discourse with a feeling of satisfaction welling in his chest.

Hovering over his outstretched claw was an ancient looking bronze icon depicting a lumpen, tentacled beast with a single eye. It radiated with loathsome purple energies, mimicked by the light blazing in the dragon's scheming eyes.

_'It is all coming to pass,' _he thought gleefully, _'A war will soon begin father. One you will not survive.'_

His claws closed over the small object that had been secreted from the twisted nightmare of Ahn'qiraj, malefic whispers echoed through his mind.

_'Soon, my flight will have the Aspect it deserves. And so too shall return this world's true masters.'_


End file.
